


Come Into My Life (Regress Into a Dream)

by Aenaria



Series: I am Here, and I am Ready [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Dreamsharing, F/F, F/M, Gen, I just thought I should clarify that, Sequel, pre darcy/steve, technically it's only a dream threesome, that threesome there in the relationship tags?, they'll get there eventually, things may get weird, yet again I'm making this up as I go along
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-14 09:20:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aenaria/pseuds/Aenaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You would think that Steve Rogers and Darcy Lewis being in the same time period, awake, and in close contact with each other would lessen the dreams, or at least calm them down a bit.</p><p>Yeah, Fate's laughing at them too.  Direct sequel to 'Everything is Now, and We are Here'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Build a New Reality

**Author's Note:**

> So moving all of the dream sequences over into this piece is probably not going to happen, so the previous story will stay exactly as is. That being said this story picks up directly after the last one - literally, only minutes pass between the ending of that story and the start of this one. Things also may get a little more adult in this story than the previous one as well, just to give you a heads up. Also, this story is still taking place prior to the Avengers movie (which probably will be covered somewhat in a later part).
> 
> Hugest of thanks to Meri for helping me beat this part into submission and putting up with a few plotty rambles as I try and nail down the character motivations in this story.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy it!

            Steve means to leave the apartment as soon as Darcy passes out.  Really, he does, but he finds himself glued to the chair watching the steady rise and fall of her body under the blankets like a metronome.  In a way, it helps him avoid his own nightmares, dreams of blood and battlefields where guns are firing everywhere and bullets cut at his skin as he runs through the forest.  He’s haunted by his best friend falling into a snowy abyss, a grinning Red Skull with his eyes lit by quite possibly the flames of hell.  Steve’s pretty sure that Darcy hasn’t dropped into those dreams of his yet, but it’s only a matter of time.  Seeing her dream tonight reminds him uncomfortably of those flashbacks, and he’s waiting with a nervous tension for them to crop up again to scare the daylights out of both of them.  So if he can avoid sleeping it’s all the better.

            He could get up and take a walk around the streets.  It wouldn’t be the first time he’d done so, spending hours tromping over cobblestone streets that haven’t been updated in decades surrounding by buildings that have been changed so much that he can hardly recognize the factory buildings they used to be.  Other times he goes to an all-night diner nearby he discovered on one of his walks and sits there for hours, drinking coffee and sketching in his notebook until he’s able to erase the images from his brain.

Definitely time to get moving, Steve thinks, tapping his fingers on the arm rests of the chair.  But the movement of her torso beneath the blankets is downright hypnotic, moving up and down as regularly as a metronome.  It’s this that lulls him back to sleep without much warning, his head rolling against the back of the chair.

 

            _The sight in front of him could come directly from one of those magazines that were smuggled into camp to keep the soldiers warm on those lonely nights.  Peggy’s there sitting on the couch in that red dress of hers, with her legs crossed in front of her and her painted lips spread into a knowing smile.  Darcy’s sitting on the couch next to Peggy, her pale legs stretched out and draped over the other woman’s knees.  She’s more covered up in her floral shirtdress than she is in her sleeping clothes, but there’s still something quite exposed and intimate about the entire thing._

_Peggy’s arm is wrapped around Darcy, her red painted nails pressing into her shoulder and tangling amidst her brown hair.  Peggy winks at Steve once, a quick flick of eyelashes against pale skin, and twists in her seat to kiss Darcy.  Darcy moans softly, lowly, and he can see Peggy’s tongue prod at the seam of her lips and then slip further inward._

_Steve’s breath catches in his throat, like he’s back in the old days and can’t get anywhere near enough oxygen into his lungs.  The sight should not be appealing to him; he should be more upset that his girl is there kissing this interloper from the future.  He should be bothered by Darcy’s presence invading one of his most private fantasies, but he’s not.  In fact, the view of Peggy and Darcy together makes the blood rush through his veins and his groin tighten._

_Darcy’s hand makes its way to Peggy’s stomach, drawing patterns on the red fabric.  Peggy’s lips curve upwards and she moves to press a line of kisses to Darcy’s cheek, right below her glasses.  While Darcy’s mouth moves to her neck, Peggy looks up at Steve again.  She stretches out her free arm and beckons him over, her fingers curling sinuously in the air._

_Really, who is he to disobey?  Steve reaches out, takes her hand, and settles on the couch next to her.  Peggy’s palm is slightly rough against his; she’s used these hands to cradle guns and conduct battles, and it’s a small comfort to him.  Their bodies are pressed together from shoulder to ankle, and he can feel Darcy’s bare feet nudging up against his calf.  She untangles her hand from his and wraps it around the back of his neck, pulling him in for a long, leisurely kiss._

_Oh, how he’s missed this, those lips of hers dancing along his and making the rest of the world fall away.  It’s all too easy for Steve to pretend that this isn’t a dream, that this is real life and he’s exactly where he wants to be.  His hand reaches out to glide up the leg nearest to him, and he suspects it’s Darcy’s.  The wandering leg returns the favor and stretches to rest her heel on his thigh.  It looks like it could be a strain, but given how Darcy’s got her face buried in Peggy’s neck and her hand is still moving over her stomach, she doesn’t seem at all bothered by it._

_Peggy pulls away from his mouth with a nip and a lick.  “You should try our girl,” she whispers.  “She tastes lovely.”_

_That statement gives Steve pause.  He’s no naïve choirboy but he’s never been in a situation quite like this before.  Still, Darcy is an attractive young woman and he’s not ashamed to admit that._

_Bleary-eyed, Darcy pulls her head away from Peggy’s neck.  “It’s all right,” she mumbles, pushing her hair off of her face.  “You don’t have to if you don’t want.”_

_“No, that’s – “  His voice stutters to a halt, trying to find the right words.  But really, it’s quite simple.  Does he want to or not?  “I mean, if you want to?”_

_Darcy rolls her eyes and smirks.  “Who am I to turn down such a tempting offer?” she teases._

_“If you don’t want to – “_

_She cuts him off with a “Shut up,” and her hand wrapping around the back of his neck.  Before Steve can even hesitate Darcy pulls his mouth to hers.  She’s surprisingly delicate and hesitant, kissing him like he’s some sort of precious treasure that could crack at the slightest pressure._

_Steve realizes that’s the last thing he wants.  No delicacy, no national treasure.  Here and now he’s just a guy.  So the hand that’s on Darcy’s leg slides up under her dress to grab at her hip, pulling her closer.  When she gasps at the sudden movement he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth.  If she was gasping before she’s moaning now, her hand grasping at the back of his head._

_Peggy nips at the shell of his ear and Steve’s free hand reaches out to find her shoulder.  “Good boy,” she whispers in his ear as she begins to unbutton his shirt._

            Steve awakes with a groan, eyes blinking rapidly in the low lighting of Darcy’s tiny little room.  Breath rattles in his lungs and his pants are uncomfortably tight.  He takes deep breaths, trying to calm himself down before Darcy catches him in this state.  He’s not willing to probe any further into those thoughts lest he see things he’s not ready to admit to.

            Steve looks over at Darcy to make his excuses and get out of there, but the sight of her makes his mouth go dry.  She’s kicked her blankets off and his stretched out across the mattress, arms thrown over her head.  Darcy’s not still, her legs rubbing together and her back arching nearly off the bed.  Her nightshirt’s pulled tight across her breasts, and her nipples are hard enough to nearly poke through the fabric.

            Okay, he really has to go.  Steve pushes himself to his feet and makes his way over to the bedroom door.  The skylight’s still pitch dark; he should be able to slip back to his apartment without being noticed by any of her roommates.

            “Hey, Steve?” Darcy calls out, still sounding half drunk and mostly asleep.

            He freezes in his tracks, eyes toward the door with his hand on the knob, ready to twist.  “Yeah?”

            “Two things.  One: your girl’s hot.  Two: if that’s how you kiss when you’re asleep you must be pretty damn amazing when you’re awake.”

            Steve smiles slightly, if only because he knows that she can’t see him.  “Good night, Darcy,” he says softly.

            “’Night, Steve.  Sweet dreams.”


	2. This Strange and Beautiful Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's go for a swim and play like little children...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be the first to admit that this chapter kind of got away from me a little bit. Unlike Physical Phenomena, however, I'm reining this one in and the later parts will be more of a return to form. As I really like how this chapter came out, I'm posting it as is. If you have any questions or comments, you can leave them below or stop by my tumblr at aenariasbookshelf.tumblr.com and let me know there. Thanks for reading!

**This Strange and Beautiful Thing**

 

            Darcy bangs on the door to Steve’s apartment.  It’s not that he’s been avoiding her since _that_ dream (which was admittedly intense and, frankly, pretty damn hot), but he’s seemed a bit…distant, for lack of a better word, she thinks.  And as Steve isn’t exactly mister talks about his emotions to begin with she can only guess at what’s been going through his head.  So it’s time to cut that behavior off at the knees, Darcy knows, which is what leads to her practically pounding down his door a week later.

            She can hear Steve’s heavy footsteps on the other side, and resists the urge to tap her feet on the tiled hall floor.  He’s hesitating, she thinks, because he’s got to be standing right on the other side of the door and it’s not opening, not yet.  Eventually Steve opens the door, looking nervous and sheepish and all other sorts of adjectives he has no real reason to look like.  He opens his mouth to say something, but Darcy cuts him off with one pointedly upraised finger.

            “Just answer me this,” she says.  “Do you or do you not have any control over what you dream about?”

            “Darcy—“

            “Yes or no.”

            Steve’s silent for a moment, his arms spread out and gripping either side of the door.  “No,” he finally admits, not meeting her stare.

            “So then why the hell do you think I’d be offended by dreaming something like that?” Darcy questions, which brings his eyes back up to her.  She’s standing there with her arms crossed over her chest, eyebrows arched above her glasses and hoping like hell that he gets the message.  “For the record, I’m flattered,” she says.

            “And w—if it happens again?” Steve asks, releasing his grip on the doorframe.

            Darcy notices the small catch in his voice, but chooses to focus on the question, not the words.  She can at least provide an answer to that.  “Then we deal with it as it comes.”

            Now it’s Steve’s turn to send an eyebrow arching skyward.  Darcy quickly rubs a hand over her forehead, hoping like hell it’s enough of a distraction from the blush she can feel blooming on her cheeks.  “Okay, bad choice of words,” she says.  “But you know what I mean.  So, we’re cool?”

            Steve just offers a wry grin and nods.  “We’re good.”

            Darcy claps her hands together.  “Good!  Now that that’s out of the way, what are your plans for the night?”

            “Excuse me?”

            “It’s not a difficult question.”

            “No, I know.  You just caught me off guard there.  What’s going on?” he asks.

            Darcy resists the urge to smirk at the worried look on Steve’s face, knowing that he’s not going to see this one coming.  “The roommates and I are having a little get-together tonight.  Noshes, drinks, couple of movies, real casual sort of thing.  I was wondering if you wanted to come over and hang out with us?”

            Steve’s lips purse briefly, but then he shakes his head.  “I don’t really think I’d be good company right now.  And chances are I won’t understand most of the things you’re talking about anyway.”

            “You mean the shadowy government agency that set you up with this cushy place didn’t give you a plausible back story in case anyone ever asks you any questions?”  Darcy crosses her arms over her chest, preparing to fight him on this one.  She’s of the firm belief that he needs to get out of his apartment and see the world, at least a little bit.  Movie night at her apartment is a pretty tame step in the right direction.

            “The backstory’s not the problem,” Steve says.  “It’s if someone asks questions that the backstory doesn’t quite cover.  I’m sure S.H.I.E.L.D. would love to have to run interference because I stepped in it.”

            “That’s what I’ll be there for,” Darcy fires back, resisting the urge to call Steve out on being one of the most stubborn fuckers she’s ever had to deal with.  “Okay, I’m going to lay it out as I’m seeing it,” she says.  “S.H.I.E.L.D. may be doing a good job at catching you up with all of the historical events that have happened since the War, but I’m betting that they haven’t given you the slightest hint as to how to interact with people your own age in the 21st century.”

            He opens his mouth to rebut the claim, but then he pauses, looking off into the distance.  “Thought so,” Darcy continues.  “What I’m offering is a sort of…controlled setting, nothing loud or, well, overly crazy, where you can hang out with people your own age who have no clue about who you are or what you’ve been through, which is probably a nice change from the people at the shadowy government agency that you normally see.  And the best part is you don’t have to tell them anything you don’t want them to know.”  She shrugs, tossing her last hat into the ring.  “Worse comes to worse you get a free dinner out of it.”

            Steve looks warily down at her, but Darcy suspects that she’s wearing him down a bit.  Even though they haven’t really known each other all that long technically (though if she includes the time dreaming and sleeping and time spent frozen they’ve actually known each other for years, which is the strangest sort of thought) she’s a bit amazed that she can tell what Steve’s face looks like when he’s warming up to an idea.  “Can I leave whenever I want?” he finally asks.

            Darcy nods.  “Absolutely.  Though I do hope you stick around for at least a little while.”

            She doesn’t breathe until he nods in agreement.  Steve disappears for a second, then comes back wearing his coat and locks the door behind him.  Before they hit the stairwell Darcy stops mid-stride, then turns around back to him.  “Just one last thing,” she says.

            “What is it?”  Instead of speaking, Darcy reaches out and begins to quickly unbutton his shirt.  “Hey!”

            “You look too tightly wound up for a movie night with a bunch of twenty somethings who will most likely not be sober in the space of an hour,” Darcy says, unbuttoning the plaid shirt and then pulling that and the t-shirt underneath out of his pants.  “There, that’s it.”  She steps back and raises her hands in supplication.  “You can at least fake being relaxed like that.”

            Steve looks down at himself and frowns.  “It looks a bit sloppy.”

            “You’re still better dressed than any of the guys who are going to be there, I promise.”

            When they arrive back at Darcy’s place the night descends into a whirlwind of introductions.  This girl’s the assistant to a talent agent who herds a bunch of models convinced that celery and Adderall are legitimate food groups, another guy bakes vegan muffins, and someone else is a bike messenger with a perpetually bruised calf.  There’s the boyfriend and girlfriend duo that Darcy’s not quite sure what they do for a living, but they pay their share of the rent so no one asks questions.  There are a few other people drifting around who may or may not live there, but Darcy thinks it’s likely that they wandered up from the art studio on the first floor.  It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened, she explains.  “Which is why I’m the only one with the key to the lock on my bedroom door,” she grumbles under her breath.  No one asks Steve any questions that he can’t answer in a convincingly modern way, and Darcy can’t help but feel relieved for him.  Once the introductions are done she grabs two beers out of the creaky old refrigerator in the kitchen, shoves Steve down into a corner of the couch, and settles down next to him.

            “So far, so good?” she asks, clinking her beer bottle against his.

            “Too early to tell.” 

            Darcy just nods.  She hopes that Steve’s at least willing to stick it out for a little while and possibly, though it is a bit of a radical thought, enjoy himself just a little bit.  She gets that it’s hard for him.  He’s a freakin’ modern day Rip van Winkle who woke up in a world that’s progressed further than his wildest imaginations and everyone that he knew is long gone.  But he’s also got this amazing second chance in front of him that’s just going to waste (possibly.  She doesn’t know what he does every single hour of the day, but there’s the sneaking suspicion that he’s not taking advantage of all the wonderful things the 21st century has to offer and instead spending far too much time with the punching bags at his gym).  So if she has to drag Steve kicking and screaming out of his apartment for the night – metaphorically, at least – then that’s what she’s going to do.

            But Darcy also knows that she may be slightly out of her depth in this situation, so she’s got to tread somewhat carefully.  And if S.H.I.E.L.D. was to find out what she’s doing?  Aw, hell, they still owe her for the iPod after the New Mexico incident, so fair’s fair.

            Jess, the modeling agent’s assistant and the old college friend who had convinced her to take the room in the apartment, wobbles over to the coffee table on a pair of absurdly high heels and plonks down a giant pot full of something.  “Dinner’s up,” she says as she straightens up and pushes some wayward blond curls out of her eyes.

            “What is it?” Darcy asks, leaning forward to sniff at the pot.

            “Barrett says it’s supposed to be chili.”

            “ _Supposed_ to be?” 

Jess just shrugs, and totters off to check out the latest face that’s wandered into their apartment.  Darcy grabs two bowls from the mismatched stack and dishes up some chili for them.  “Well, bottoms up,” she says, handing one over to Steve.

            After about twenty seconds of chewing Steve grimaces, and swallows roughly.  “It’s…interesting,” he says with a wince.  “Is that what chili’s supposed to taste like?”

            “God, no.”  Darcy makes a disgusted face of her own and chokes her own mouthful down.  While she’s tempted to throw her bowl across the room and drop the rest of the pot out the window, she can’t take the risk of her roommates or any of the other wandering souls getting poisoned.  At least the serum would make Steve somewhat immune she thinks with a loopy internal giggle.  “Hey, Jess!” she yells instead, waving her back over.  When she gets there Darcy pushes the bowl into her hands.  “Try this.  Now.”

            Jess takes one small bite and they watch as her eyes go wide and her jaw stops working.  She lunges forward, grabbing for a nearby napkin and spitting the rest of the mouthful into there.  “What the hell is that?” she gasps.

            “No idea.”  Darcy shakes her head.  “Did Barrett flunk out of culinary school again?”

            “Whatever that,” Jess points her finger sternly at the pot, “is, it is not acceptable at my party.”  She glances wildly around the room, her eyes landing on Steve.  “Do you like Chinese food?” she asks him.

            “Uh, sure.”

            Luckily Jess is predictable and Darcy knows exactly what she’s thinking.  “I’ll start taking up a dinner collection,” Darcy says, pushing herself to her feet.

            Jess grabs the pot, looking a lot steadier on her heels than she previously did.  But Jess always managed to wear the high shoes easily, a talent that Darcy kind of envied.  “I will make this disappear.  Forever.” 

            “Any preferences for your dinner?” Darcy asks Steve, who’s still sitting in the corner of the couch and looking slightly bewildered.

            He looks up at her with a wry grin.  “I think the last time I had Chinese food was in 1943,” he says in a low voice, and Darcy responds with a grin of her own.

            “I’ll pick out some of the classics for you then,” she says, clapping him on the shoulder.

            A crashing noise echoes down the hall from the direction of the kitchen, followed up by voices yelling back and forth.  Darcy just smirks.  “With any luck she’s setting the rest of Barrett’s experiments on fire.”

 

            After the rough start the rest of the night mellows out into a more relaxed event.  Various food containers speared with chopsticks are spread across many of the flat surfaces of the apartment, the lights have been lowered to a dim but comfortable level, and the wandering guests have all settled down onto couches, chairs, and cushions.  The first movie was chosen by the boyfriend-girlfriend duo (Steve has a hard time telling which one is which by appearance alone; they look startlingly identical to each other), with the images bright and clear across the large flat screen set up against one wall.

            Darcy bites down on her lip and stares hard at the screen, squinting in the darkness.  “Do you have any idea what’s going on?” she leans over and asks Steve.  They’ve chosen one of those artsy sorts of flicks that feature long, drawn out shots of people walking and discussing deep things that even though it’s in English some subtitles wouldn’t be a bad idea to understand what exactly is happening on the screen.  Not exactly her style; absurd humor’s more her speed.  She wouldn’t mind something that at least has a bit of a plot to it either.

            “Not a clue,” he replies, and Darcy exhales with relief.

            “Thank god, I’m not the only one who can’t make heads or tails of this mess.”

            “It’ll be over in twenty minutes,” Jess whispers from her position on the overstuffed cushion by Darcy’s feet.  “I call next pick.”

            “Aim for something lively,” Darcy suggests, levering herself to her feet.  “Time for more beer.  Steve, you want another?” she asks as she stumbles over his legs to head out of the room.

            “That’d be great, thanks.  Anything to make the movie go faster,” he blurts out.

            “Good man,” Jess snickers.

            Darcy drifts off during the second movie, the only thing keeping her upright being the arm that she’s got braced on Steve’s shoulder.  Steve manages to stick it out a while longer (this movie, while a bit on the silly side, at least has a clear story and he’s surprised to find he’s actually kind of amused by it) but even he can’t hold out as the clock ticks closer to midnight.  Soon enough they’re both asleep, with the movie still rolling on.

 

            _It’s the smell that hits Darcy first, a combination of salt, heated tar, something a little bit like fish, and cool sea air.  She cracks open her eyes to see a dark, glittering sky above her and can feel soft, lapping waves brushing up against the soles of her feet.  There’s sand beneath her, slightly rough against her bare limbs, and it retains some of the heat left over from the day before.  She can feel Steve lying on the sand beside her, tense and still.  He’s breathing carefully and slowly, but there’s really no reason for him to worry._

_Darcy twists her head to one side, spotting the shadowy posts and piers that stretch out into the wine-dark ocean.  She smiles, recognizing the familiar shapes and knowing that this is her territory.  With her arms she pushes herself to a sitting position, catching sight of the sand dunes behind her and the endless Atlantic stretching out to the horizon and beyond in front of her.  It’s peaceful, and she relishes the feeling._

_“So I’m guessing this is your dream?” Steve asks, propping himself up on his elbows._

_She smiles and twists back to the sand dunes, waving a hand in their general direction.  “Yeah.  My parents’ house is, hmm, maybe half a mile back that way.  We’d spend most of our summers here trying to either avoid the tourists or make money off of them.”_

_There’s a thin, lighter grey strip glowing along the horizon, and Darcy’s seen that sight enough times to know that the sun will soon be making its way upward, setting the sky aflame.  But right now it’s darkened and peaceful, with the only lights coming from the pale moon and the twinkling stars.  And it’s perfect for swimming, she thinks._

_Darcy scrambles to her feet.  “I think it’s time for a swim,” she says, ready to plunge headfirst into the waves._

_“I think I’ll take a pass on that one, thanks,” Steve replies, sitting up straighter but not budging from his position._

_She looks down at him, watches as his eyes scan the horizon like he’s searching for something he can’t quite find just yet.  “It’s only a dream,” she says.  “If you don’t like it, you can just wake up.”_

_Steve shakes his head, mouth twisted into a bitter grin.  “Only if I don’t open my eyes to find out seventy years have passed again.”_

_“Not in my ocean,” Darcy says firmly.  “Come on, Steve.  The world’s yours for the taking.  This is only the start of it.”_

_It’s not her job to teach him all about the future; she’s no professor and, frankly, doesn’t have the patience for it.  But she can easily encourage him to step out of his comfort zone, to explore what’s right at his fingertips and maybe just beyond.  That, Darcy knows, is something she’s pretty damn good at.  Yes, it may have gotten her into trouble in the past, but still, no regrets._

_Eventually Steve pushes himself to his feet, still staring off into the distance.  “Just a dream?” he asks, dropping his eyes to hers._

_“And a peaceful one at that.”  Darcy smiles widely and runs for the waves, diving under the water with a splash without any worry for her clothes.  She sails forward and twists, kicking her legs behind her until she breaks the surface laughing.  She waves once, beckoning Steve forth into the water._

_With a shake of his head he jumps in.  It’s not a graceful move, and the resultant wave crashes over her head, dripping water into her face.  Still, she laughs again, because this is home and she’s in a good mood and it’s absolutely fantastic to see Steve loosen up just a little and relax._

_They play in the waves like children until the sun comes up, painting the sky in shades of yellow, orange, and gold._

When Darcy awakes the next morning she finds that she’s still on the couch, having slept there the entire night.  Not so surprising, all of the roommates have fallen asleep on there at one point or another.  What is surprising is that Steve is still there, sitting upright yet fast asleep in the opposite corner of the couch, one of the throw pillows shoved between his head and the armrest.  At some point during the night she must have wiggled her toes into the space beneath his thigh.  Darcy flexes them quickly to try and get some of the feeling back.  They do feel nicely warm, though, she thinks through the early morning mental fog.

            It’s got to be the wiggling that wakes Steve up, because not long after that he comes to with a jolt.  His eyes dart rapidly around the room until he remembers where exactly he is, and a hand comes up to massage wearily at his forehead.  “Morning,” Darcy croaks, still feeling sleep-dazed herself.

            “Hi,” he replies, voice a little scratchy.

            “Hangover?” she asks, sympathetically.  She has to admit that she kind of lost track of just how many beers had been handed out the previous night, and there’s a sneaking certainty that they had broken into some locally made rye whiskey sometime during the second movie.  Darcy had made sure that Steve had indulged in his fair share as well, thinking that he probably needed the drinks more than the rest of them just because of reasons.

            Steve just shakes his head.  “No.  I wish that was it, but no.”

            “Okay, that’s a story you’re going to have to share at some point.”

            Before she can wrangle any more info about that odd statement out of him Jess comes over, dropping to a crouch in front of them.  “Come on,” she says.  “Barrett’s working on the food truck; he owes us breakfast after last night.”

            “I am always up for free muffins.”  Darcy stretches out, arching her back to try and ease some of the inevitable stiffness after a night spent curled up on the couch.  She prods Steve in the thigh with her toes.  “You want breakfast?” she asks, hoping that he’s not thinking of running back to the safety of his apartment.  She feels like there was progress made throughout the night, between the movie and the dream, and it would be a total step in the wrong direction if he were to wimp out on her now.  “I promise he actually knows how to make muffins, unlike dinner last night.  You haven’t been to the Prospect Park farmer’s market yet either, have you?” she continues on, not giving him a chance to answer.

            Jess looks over at Steve, curls bobbing as she nods in agreement.  “It is a pretty fun way to spend a Saturday morning,” she adds.

            Steve gives Darcy a shrewd look.  “You’re not going to let me say no, are you?”

            Darcy just prods him in the thigh once more and grins.

            The three end up eating breakfast on a bench somewhere in Prospect Park.  The air’s cold but the sun’s up high, and the cups of strong coffee from one of the tents keeps Darcy nicely warmed from the inside.  Steve has his first experience with gourmet vegan muffins (the banana nut with maple almond butter-like spread turns out to be his favorite), while Jess tucks into a breakfast cobbled together from various tents.

            Steve’s impressed with the volume of food she packs away.  “I think you’re putting some of my army buddies to shame there,” he says, waving his cup of coffee at the blue corn pancakes she’s just put aside in favor of some cream filled pastries.  Darcy reaches over with her fork and stabs one of the pancakes, wanting to try them before they disappear.

            Jess just shrugs.  “I consist on smoothies most of the week thanks to my crazy boss.  The weekends are mine, and I want real, delicious food.”  She shoves the rest of the pastry in her mouth, cheeks bulging out like a squirrel and chews happily.

            “Cheers to you,” Darcy says, raising her coffee cup in salute.  Steve raises his own in agreement, and with a shared grin they click their paper cups together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Sunrise', by The Divine Comedy (a song which, seriously, everyone needs to listen to. It's eerie and breathtaking and manages to go from mournful to amazingly hopeful in the space of a simple bridge. It's one of my favorites from Neil Hannon ever).


	3. Because You're Lonely In Your Nightmare, Let Me In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It couldn't always be peaceful nights, could it? Steve's nightmares finally make an appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I give up; I can’t edit this piece any more. It’s been finished and I’ve held onto it for a while, trying to make edits and corrections but now my brain hurts. So I’m releasing it into the world to grow wings and fly out. However, if anyone sees anything that needs to be corrected, please let me know – I’m more than happy to make the corrections!
> 
> I know I’m playing a little fast and loose with the timeline of what happens prior to the Avengers movie in regards to Steve. But it should still make sense, so I think we’ll be all right. We’re still in that period of time prior to the movie, but by the end of this story we’ll get there. Somewhat. I know where this story is ending and what’s going to happen in the next one in the series at least, which is kind of nice. Normally my stories don’t get planned that far ahead. ;) My deepest thanks to everyone who’s left comments on the story already; it means so much to hear from you (I’m backlogged in my responses to you, so keep an eye out soon for them in the next few days). Thank you for reading!

**Because You’re Lonely in Your Nightmare, Let Me in**

            _The smoke coils through the trees like a snake, winding and twisting as it wreathes the branches in wavering grey clouds.  All Steve can hear is the crunch of his boots over the frozen ground, the rasp of his breath in the air.  The shield is a solid presence at his back, and his hands cradle the heavy machine gun in his hands as he moves slowly throughout the forest._

_There are shapes moving in the smoke, nebulous figures without solid form.  It’s this unknown quality that makes Steve even more nervous.  The enemy that you can’t see or hear coming poses massive potential for damage.  A snapping noise echoes from above, making him look up towards the canopy to figure out what exactly it is._

_Cradled in the branches of a pine tree is Darcy, crouched on the balls of her feet with one hand propped on the main trunk and the other holding what he thinks is that Taser she’s always talking about.  Her face is pale, her features dark slashes that stand out in the gloomy light.  Steve nods once up at her, and she nods back.  He can tell she’s petrified, but she’s aware and ready to fight if necessary.  He can work with that._

_The smoke creeps in ever closer, and Steve moves until he can feel the tree at his back.  He can see his breath in the air now.  The smoke is bone-chilling, seeping in through the small gaps in his uniform fabric.  It’s so cold it burns, little lines of ice weaving through his veins that seem to lock his limbs into place.  Steve struggles to move, his limbs jerking and twitching to no avail._

_He’s nearly hyperventilating now, but all that seems to do is encourage the ice crystals to creep down his throat.  The smoke’s enveloping him now while the cold is coming from the inside out, and it would be so easy at this point just to give up, give in, and go down with the ship.  Still, he struggles.  Lying down isn’t exactly his thing.  He grits his teeth and tries to scream, but now his jaw’s locked into place too._

_Up above him Darcy screams, sharp and echoing in across the woods.  “Steve!  Wake up, dammit!” he can hear her yell, but the crystals are flooding into his ears now and everything’s becoming more muffled.  It’s the growing silence that’s more unnerving than anything else, and he hates it.  Her screams grow sharper, more shrill and ringing against the ice in his ears…_

Steve awakes with a harsh gasp, rolling to an upright position before he can even think about it.  His chest heaves, and he can feel the warm and dry air from his apartment’s heating system in his mouth, chasing away the cold.  The ability to constantly stay warm is one of the best things about the future, he thinks.  He scratches at his chest, feeling heated skin beneath his fingertips.

            It hits him that the shrill sound followed him into the waking world, and there’s a constant ringing noise coming from the other room.  Telephone, Steve thinks, pushing to his feet and scrambling to get there before it stops ringing.  It could be S.H.I.E.L.D., maybe, finally giving him something to do.  But he’s pretty sure it’s something else.  “I’m awake,” he gasps as he puts the receiver to his ear.

            “Three times,” Steve hears Darcy say on the other side of the phone.  “Three times this week you’ve woken us both up because of a nightmare.”

            “Yeah.  Sorry about that.”

            “No apologies,” she reassures him.  “But what did I say would happen the next time this happened?”

            “I’d owe you a coffee.”

            “Right on.  Meet you out front in five, soldier.”

 

            They walk in silence to the diner, the air cold enough to bite at their skin and make Steve hunch down inside his coat in an attempt to avoid it as much as possible.  It’s not until they’re seated in the nearly empty diner that Darcy even dares to breach the issue.  She looks around warily, making sure that the lone waitress is off in the far corner of the restaurant bobbing along to her headphones as she refills bottles of ketchup and mustard.  “So why the nightmares now?” she asks, turning back to where Steve is fiddling around with his cup of coffee.  “Why haven’t they popped up earlier?”

            The coffee’s hot and it scalds his tongue as he gulps it down.  He knows he’s stalling, but at least the pain keeps him in the present.  Steve glances quickly at the waitress, double checking that she’s not paying any attention to them whatsoever.  “S.H.I.E.L.D.,” he says eventually.

            Darcy snorts derisively.  He’s heard enough rants from her about S.H.I.E.L.D. and how they treated her and her former boss after the incident out in New Mexico (and isn’t ‘incident’ a positively mild word to describe such an encounter with extraterrestrial beings) and knows there’s no love lost there.  For the briefest moment he’s worried about how she’ll react, but he can’t think about that.  “Three days ago they gave me the dossiers for the men on my team…for Peggy.  What’s happened to them since I went under.”

            She nods, the grimace morphing into something more solemn.  “Did they have good lives?” Darcy asks.

            “For the most part.”  Steve shrugs, the sturdy handle of the coffee mug feeling smooth against his fingers.  “I, uh, didn’t exactly read them through all the way.  There were some old film reels of the team as well.  I got distracted.”

            “They gave you an actual projector to set up in your apartment?” Darcy’s brow scrunches up under her glasses, entirely puzzled.

            Steve shakes his head.  “No, it was one of those,” he makes a gesture with his hands, indicating some sort of squared off shape, “computer things, but a portable version.”

            “Probably a laptop then.  But yeah, I can see how that would spur on the nightmares.”

            They fall silent for a few moments.  Conversations such as this one aren’t ever easy, and the words don’t flow quite like they should.  Eventually Darcy breaks the silence, and it’s a relief.  The silence has a tendency to weigh heavily on him, and it’s almost easier to deal with the loud noise of the 21st century than the jumble of feelings and memories rattling around inside his brain, Steve thinks.  “It wasn’t that long ago for you, was it?  All of these flashbacks and nightmares, they’re really freakin’ fresh, aren’t they?”

            He shrugs and fiddles with the coffee cup, not meeting Darcy’s eyes.  “Two and a half months,” he says.

            “Shit.”

            “Yeah.”  Steve knocks back some of the now lukewarm coffee, letting the bitter and acidic taste roll around his mouth.  He chooses his next words carefully, not wanting to risk the waitress overhearing something she shouldn’t.  “From what I understand they found me a while before that, but it took them some time to…wake me up properly.  That was in the beginning of January.”

            “So when we met in person…?” Darcy trails off, letting Steve fill in the blanks.

            “A matter of weeks afterwards.”  He shakes his head, a rueful grin playing at the corners of his mouth.  “Do you know what they did when I woke up?”

            “I’m not sure I want to know.”

            “Let’s just say it won’t help the faith you have in S.H.I.E.L.D.  They put me in this room, nice calm sort of a place.  Looks like it could have been a bedroom from back in the day.  Sun’s shining through the window, I can hear cars driving by outside, and they’ve got a baseball game playing on the radio.”

            Darcy purses her lips, looking puzzled.  “Why does that sound too good to be true?” she asks.

            Steve points a finger at her and nods.  “Then this woman dressed in an army uniform – a uniform I recognize - comes in, tells me I’m in a recovery room in New York.”  He pauses, collecting himself.  It’s not easy to remember, all of those horrible realizations sweeping over him at once with the truth being even stranger than he would have dared to think about.  Darcy reaches out and grabs his hand, bringing him back to the future.  Steve takes a deep breath and continues on with his story.  “But they made a mistake with one detail.”

            “I’m guessing it was a pretty noticeable detail if it’s got you this wound up,” Darcy says, tightening her grip on his fingers.

            “The baseball game on the radio,” he says.  “Of all the game recordings I imagine they have access to, they picked a game that was about four years out of date, from 1941.  And it was a game I distinctly remember going to at Ebbets Field.”

            “Oh, shit.”

            “That’s putting it mildly.  In any case I confront the woman about it and she calls her armed soldiers in.”

            Darcy grimaces, her coffee now forgotten on the table.  “I’m getting the sense of where this story is going.”

            “If you mean with me putting the soldiers through the wall of the recovery room which was actually a stage set in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s headquarters and running the hell out of there, you’d be correct.”  Steve shakes his head again, the memories of bursting out onto the street into a whole new world still fresh and sort of horrifying even at this later date.  “Fury and his agents finally caught up with me at Times Square.  I got kind of distracted.”

            “I’ll bet.  Times Square is a whirlwind on a good day, and I grew up with it.”  She squeezes his hand again. 

            “Times Square being busy hasn’t changed,” Steve corrected her.  “But when it barely resembles the place you used to know?”

            “That’s a hell of a way to be introduced to the 21st century.  And it sort of explains the nightmares.  Well, when combined with everything else.  That’s a lot for one person to have to take.” 

            Steve sighs heavily, idly wishing that his coffee cup held something stronger that would actually affect him in any sort of measurable way.  “I’m sorry you have to deal with them also.”

            Darcy shrugs and smirks, face bright in the dullness of the early morning diner.  “That’s what I’m here for.  Keeps the nightmares at bay with the finest coffee Brooklyn has to offer.”

            He can appreciate the offer, but his bad dreams aren’t her burden to carry, Steve thinks.  “Still, there’s got to be a way to at least stop the dreams from being shared, if only so you can get some rest,” he says, trying to think of ways to ensure her a full night sleep even though none are coming to mind.  “You shouldn’t have to deal with my flashbacks.”  Especially when he can barely handle them himself.

            To his surprise Darcy’s face grows still, and she looks down at her mug.  “I say let’s worry about it later,” she eventually says.  “It’s entirely possible that you don’t have another nightmare after this bad patch.”  She looks up at him again and the grin returns, even though her eyes still have a vaguely haunted look that unsettles Steve just a bit.  There’s no time to dwell on this look however as Darcy looks down at her cell phone and grimaces noticeably.  “Ugh, time to get ready for work,” she says.  “Seven a.m. is a killer starting time.  But still, go paycheck.”

            As they walk back through the streets that are slowly coming to life, Darcy asks in a low voice, “Do you really want to stop this dream sharing, or whatever you want to call it, that we do?”

            Steve’s footsteps don’t pause, though his brain stutters a bit.  To be perfectly honest, he’s not thought about it too deeply.  He tells her as much then continues with, “If my nightmares are disturbing your sleep I’ll find a way to break the connection somehow.”

            Darcy shakes her head, dark curls bobbing around her cheeks in the wind.  “No.  No, I don’t think we should cut the connection.”

            “Why not?  If it’s waking you up at nights – “

            She shakes her head even harder, cutting Steve’s statement off quickly.  “A little bit of insomnia is nothing.  I’ve dealt with worse.”

            “Darcy, you shouldn’t have to deal with my problems,” he says, shoving his hands awkwardly into his pockets.  Because those problems are big and constantly present, and he doesn’t want to drag her down into the darkness with him.  He needs her lightness, he thinks, the thought hitting him with all the force of a sucker punch.

            “Isn’t that what friends do?”  Darcy chews roughly on her lower lip, to the point where it looks like she’s about ready to tear into the skin with her teeth.  “And I like having that connection with you,” she eventually says.  “Sometimes my head can be a really lonely place.  It’s nice to not always be alone in there.”

            Steve pauses in the middle of the sidewalk, turning to look at her head on.  “Lonely is the last word I’d use to describe you.  Not with all of your roommates and your friends.”

            “Having people around me all the time doesn’t mean I’m not lonely,” Darcy says, almost walking into him.  She looks up at Steve, eyes wide and solemn behind her glasses.  “When you’ve been through that weird shit that no one else has, that no one else can understand because they’ve got no idea how much is out there that’s beyond their comprehension, the world becomes a cold and lonely place.”  She reaches out and grabs his hand, tangling their fingers together.  “Having someone in my head who knows just how strange and fucked up this world is helps me feel…not quite as lonely.”

            Steve just squeezes her hand.  If there’s something he can understand more than anything else it’s that loneliness, and he’s suddenly grateful that he doesn’t have to face it alone.  Even if he’s still not sure what to make of the 21st century.  “All right,” he says.  “We just follow where the dreams go then, I guess?”

            “That we will,” Darcy says, nodding.  “Now come on, time for me to go suffer through another day of boredom.”

            They walk off, holding hands until they reach home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Lonely in your Nightmare, by Duran Duran


	4. Unnatural Selection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes a dream is just that - a silly dream. Don't go looking for any deeper meaning in this one.

            A grimace frozen on her face, Darcy holds the phone away from her ear.  It doesn’t do much good, however, as she can still hear her mother ranting on the other side of it.  The long, loud, and winding conversation boils down to Mother doesn’t believe that temping is a good long term employment prospect and that she really should look into finding a full time position that is worth her skills.  Darcy attempts to point out (yet again, she mentally adds) that the job market sucks balls and her varied experience doesn’t always translate well into employable skills, but it seems to flow right over Mother’s head.  So she just lets her mother have at it, letting the oft-heard conversation flow over her until she cracks.

            “Mom, I can’t hear you, you’re breaking up,” Darcy blurts out in a rush before Mother can get other words in edgewise.  It’s not that she’s ungrateful to her parents, but sometimes she gets so overwhelmed that it’s safer to back off before she says something she’d end up regretting later.  Better safe than sorry, she thinks.  “What’s that?” she says, holding the phone away for her and crinkling up the page of a nearby magazine for good measure.  Works on TV shows, at least.

            With a quick flick of her thumb Darcy ends the call and sighs roughly.  She swaps out the phone for her iPod and hurries out of the apartment.  Chances are good her mother will call back at some point during the evening, but it’ll be easier to resume the conversation once she’s calmed down.  She walks the streets for a bit, wandering aimlessly around Brooklyn until she feels her brain start to settle.  A nearby market provides her with dinner and a cheap bottle of wine, and she slogs back to her place.

            Darcy stops in the alley way and stares up at her apartment.  If she goes back in, then she’ll have to answer the phone when it rings (because as much as she’d try not to pick it up, it’d be nearly impossible not to when she sees her parents’ names come up on the screen).  To hell with that.  She spins on her heel and walks over to Steve’s building instead.

            “Long story, nothing bad, but I can hide out here for a few hours?” she says when he pulls open the door.

            “Uh, sure,” Steve says, looking puzzled but still moving aside to let her in.  “I was planning on heading out to the gym in a few minutes though.”

            “Oh, don’t worry about entertaining me,” Darcy replies, hoisting her sack of dinner.  “I can take care of myself.”

            Steve frowns and crosses his arms over his chest, looking an awful lot like a soldier all of a sudden rather than some guy off to go beat the crap out of a punching bag at the gym.  “Is everything all right?” he asks.

            “Yup,” Darcy says, nodding.  “Just me being a coward and avoiding my mother.”  She really doesn’t feel like talking about it any further.  Really, it’s easier to just ignore the matter and pretend that everything is all good.  It’s the Lewis family way, at least for her and her mother.

            Steve relaxes marginally, though he still looks a bit tense.  That could be for a multitude of other reasons, Darcy thinks, but it seems like Steve’s got his own coping methods just like she’s got hers.  “All right,” he says.  “Make yourself comfortable.”  He waves a hand in the general direction of the couch, and disappears into his bedroom.

            Her dinner is spread out across the coffee table and the wine bottle’s been cracked into when Steve emerges from his bedroom.  He’s wearing sweats and a t-shirt that are incredibly flattering on him (Darcy is not ashamed at all to admit that he’s a highly attractive man and that he could probably make a burlap sack look good) and is carrying a duffel bag.  “You sure you’re going to be okay?” Steve asks, shouldering the bag and grabbing his keys.

            “Yeah.”  Darcy waves a dismissive hand at him.  “Don’t worry about me.  Go, work out and be healthy.”  Someone should be healthy here because it’s not going to be her, not with the amount of wine and salted caramel chocolates she’s planning to indulge in.

            Not long after Steve leaves does it hit her: she’s actually spending time alone in _Captain America’s_ apartment. 

            It’s surreal and absurd and Darcy can’t stop giggling at the thought of it.

 

            When Steve gets back from the gym (worn out and still tense because no matter how much boxing and punching he does, there are some things that just can’t be escaped) he finds Darcy fast asleep on his couch.  There’s a blanket over her legs and a book she stole from his bookshelf resting on her stomach, one finger still in between the pages to hold her place.  He could wake her up and send her home.  But she looks far too relaxed and at peace to be disturbed, which is a nice change from the tension earlier that evening.  So instead Steve carefully pulls the book out of her hands, setting it on the table where she’ll be sure to see it in the morning, and tugs the blanket up a little higher.

            Darcy doesn’t wake up, just makes a small noise in her sleep and wrinkles her nose slightly.  Steve’s hand lingers on the blanket for a brief moment before he disappears into his bedroom.

 

            _It’s a brittle, high, and tremulous cry that wakes Darcy up.  She cracks open her eyes a slivere, seeing only a darkened bedroom around her with a few shadowy pieces of furniture.  Before she can fully process things her hand reaches out and smacks the back of the person lying next to her.  “Your turn,” she mumbles._

_Steve shifts fully onto his stomach, burying his face in his pillow.  Darcy can’t understand the mumble that comes out of his mouth, but the shaking of his head is a clear sign.  His hand comes up to poke her in the arm, and then wraps around his head to block what little light is filtering in through the windows.  Darcy just rolls her eyes at that._

_“Seventy year nap,” she grouses as she tosses back the covers of the bed, swinging her legs out, “and he can’t spare half an hour.”  Darcy stumbles her way through the room, only barely awake but intent on her mission.  She doesn’t stop until she feels the rail of the crib beneath her hands, and reaches inside to pick up the squalling, furry brown mass.  “It’s okay, sweet thing,” she murmurs as she strokes a hand up and down the stuffed bear’s back, button eyes gleaming wetly in the low light.  She leans away from a flailing paw, never stopping the calming strokes on his back._

_Darcy spends the next ten minutes pacing back and forth at the foot of the bed, murmuring and humming to the bear to calm it down and send it back to sleep.  Eventually her little tricks work, and the bear is fast asleep in her arms, exhaling warm, snuffling breaths against her neck._

_“He asleep?” Steve calls softly from across the room.  Darcy nods, looking up at him.  He’s flipped onto his back and is propped up on an unholy amount of pillows, looking rumpled and comfortable.  He also still looks mostly asleep, Darcy notes.  “Good,” he continues, “come back to bed.”_

_Instead of putting the bear back in his crib she brings him with her, crawling back under the covers and settling the bear in between her and Steve.  The bear rolls and curls into Steve’s t-shirt, burrowing into the warmth.  Steve looks down at the bear, then back up at Darcy, arching a wary eyebrow.  “Teddy bears?  Really?”_

_Darcy just sighs.  “I gotta learn not to drink red wine too close to bedtime.”_

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Steve says the next day after Darcy’s sure she’s slept through any potential calls from her agency (watch her leap across the alley to her apartment to get her phone and check it…shyeah, right) and is now blearily standing in his kitchen waiting for coffee.  “Is everything all right with you and your mother?”

            “Eh, we’re fine,” she says dismissively, waving a hand about as if to brush the bad vibes away from her.

            “You wouldn’t be running away from her if everything was fine,” Steve points out as he pours her a cup of coffee, putting it in her greedy hands and directing her towards the milk and sugar.

Darcy fiddles with the sugar spoon, focusing on doctoring up her coffee until it’s just right.  Boy’s got a point, though she does loathe admitting it.  “We have a…strained relationship,” she says.  “It’s a long, painful story that requires a lot more alcohol and ice cream for me to get through.”  She stares down into her coffee, watches her fingers twitch on the ceramic.  She really should lay off the caffeine a little bit.

            Steve just shoots her a look, one eyebrow arched up.  “I have a right to know why you decided to use my apartment as your escape plan, don’t you think?”  His voice is innocent and steady, but she can just about hear the plotting behind it.

            “Dirty pool,” she mutters under her breath, though she knows he’ll hear her perfectly.  “So you want to hear the sad, sick tale of Darcy Lewis and her mother?” she says with a bitter, brittle tone in her voice.

            “Well, as my ma would say you’re on the right side of the dirt so it can’t be all that terrible.”

            “Heh.”  She shrugs, looking over at where she’s standing across from her on the other side of the island.  “Your mom wasn’t wrong.  And I may be getting a little melodramatic.”

            “You think?”

            “Do you want to hear the explanation or not?”

            “By all means, continue.”

            Darcy leans forward on the island, propping her chin on her hand.  “I…my mother…” she begins, but her voice can’t quite keep up with her.  She can feel her eyes begin to burn, and she chews fiercely at the inside of her cheek to stop the tears from spilling over.

            “Hey,” Steve says, moving a couple of steps closer.  “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want.”

            She shakes her head, chuckling wetly and using her fingers to scrub at the delicate skin under her eyes.  “Nah, it’s all right.  Never show weakness.  It’s how we Lewises navigate the world.”  She sends him a grin, and picks up her cup of coffee, taking a fortifying sip before she launches into her story.  “Have you ever known someone that’s so much like you that sometimes it’s hard to get along with them, even though you love them to bits?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I’m wimping out and ending the scene there. I’m still sussing out what exactly the issues are between Darcy and her mother are in this universe (why do I always seem to write Darcy with a screwed up family?) and I don’t want to write myself into a hole that’ll require massive editing to get out of. So for right now, I’ll leave this chapter where it is for your imagination to fill in the missing story. Also, note the chapter count above. Yes, for once in my writing career I have a planned amount of chapters in the story, an idea of what happens in each, and the knowledge of where I’m going to end this story in the series. It’s an odd feeling, and I’m going to try my hardest to stick with it.
> 
> Title from the song by Muse, although honestly the chapter was more inspired by Uprising because have you seen that video? I blame it for horrifying thoughts about teddy bears.


	5. The Gem of Ireland's Crown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it's the quietest dreams that can mean the most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one’s a little bit more serious than the previous chapter, though it definitely ends on a sillier note (Thank you Darcy and your cunning plan). I’m possibly taking a slight bit of artistic liberty with the song that pops in the dream because I can’t find an exact publication date of the lyrics – which seems to be par for the course with folk songs and is putting my internet research skills to shame. What I do know is that the guy who wrote (or wrote down) the lyrics as presented here died in the mid-1920s, so it’s entirely possible that Steve would have at least heard a version of it in his childhood. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who’s left kudos and comments on this piece – I love hearing from all of you and it means so much to me to know that you enjoy it!

**The Gem of Ireland’s Crown**

 

            “Almost done,” the nurse taking blood from him says.  Steve smiles thinly and nods at her.  It’s never fun to be treated like a piece of sewing equipment by the medical department at S.H.I.E.L.D.  However, it’s almost comforting to think that even though the equipment has been updated taking blood is still essentially the same.

            There’s nothing wrong, at least according to what the scientists and doctors are telling him.  They tell Steve they want to establish a baseline, see how his serum amplified body reacts during times of rest as compared to reactions during stressful events.  Or something like that.  He doesn’t know most of what they’re saying, but it’s easily reminiscent of the days right after Project Rebirth when they took enough blood from him to fill a barrel in the attempts to recreate Erskine’s serum.

            The nurse withdraws the syringe, caps the vial off, and slides it into the rack with the rest.  She moves to put a piece of cotton and a bandage over the injection site, but she pauses abruptly when she sees that the spot’s already scabbed over and healing.  “Well that’s convenient,” she says, rubbing a well-manicured thumb over the healing puncture.  Then she moves to make a few more notes on her charts as Steve rolls down his sleeve and buttons the cuff into place.

            “Is that all for today?” Steve asks, sounding calm and polite even though he’s sick of being treated as a human pincushion.

            “You’re all set, Captain,” she replies with a professional smile.  “We’ll give you a call when it’s time for the next round of testing.”

            He runs into Nick Fury on his way out of the building.  Steve can’t tell if it’s just a coincidence or a deliberately planned meeting.  He wouldn’t put it past Fury to have timed every single step of his day.  “How are you doing, Captain?” he asks, hands clutched behind his back. 

            Fury looks like he’s at ease, but at any moment he could strike.  Sign of someone who’s been through the wars and come out the other side, Steve thinks.  It’s not a comforting thought, but it’s something he can at least respect.  “Fine, Sir,” he replies.  “Just came in for some medical tests.”  Is it really necessary for him to elaborate?  Hell, Fury probably knows what exactly he had for breakfast this morning.

            They trade a few more brief pleasantries, talk about what Steve thinks of his new neighborhood and if there’s anything he’s feeling confused by.  It’s bland conversation until Steve asks if there’s any plan in the works to give him a mission.  “Or what about additional training?  Get me up to scratch on current military practices?” he suggests.  Even going through boot camp again would at least give him the feeling that he’s got some use.

            “Right now you need to worry about familiarizing yourself with the world,” is all Fury says.  “When there’s a job that requires your specific skills we’ll be sure to keep you in the loop.”  He checks his watch, and then nods at Steve.  “I need to be on my way, but it was good speaking with you,” he says.  “Stop by my office next time you’re at headquarters, Captain, and we’ll talk more about potential work for you.”  They shake on their farewell, a quick efficient press of hands, and go their separate ways.

            As Steve moves through the building he gets brief, brisk nods from passersby, and a few people occasionally greet him and call him Captain.  That’s when it hits him.  That in the eyes of these people he’s nothing more than a military officer, the legendary Captain America more than an actual human being. 

            Whatever happened to Steve Rogers?

            The thought is a horribly sobering one, and he wonders if he would have been better off left in the ice.  He’s so distracted by this thought that he misses his subway stop and ends up god only knows where.  When Steve realizes this he gets off the train anyway and decides to make the long trip back to his apartment on foot.  He wanders through the streets until well after dark, trying to find some sign of the Brooklyn he once knew. 

            He doesn’t sleep much that night.

 

            _The room comes into focus slowly, with shape and form solidifying and moving into sharp clarity.  It’s a small room but one that’s obviously well lived in, full to the walls with all of the tools of life.  A stove and sink are in one corner below a line of cabinets and a table with two rough wooden chairs is right in front of that.  Crammed under the windows is a low, sway-backed couch covered in sun-faded upholstery.  Instead of curtains a rope is strung above the windows, and freshly washed laundry is draped over it to dry.  A tall dresser sits next to the front door with any number of decorative items on top of it.  There’s a skinny hallway that leads off to another room to the left of where Steve sits with his back against the wall, but that’s not important right now._

_To Steve’s right is a small, metal-framed bed covered in a multitude of patched blankets.  He remembers how lumpy and uncomfortable that mattress was, stuffed full of whatever rags his mother could get his hands on and boil until clean. His breath catches in his throat when he sees his mother there, young and blonde and healthy as she paces a path back and forth down the center of the room.  She’s still in her grey nurse’s uniform, but it’s obvious it’s the end of the day by the dark night sky outside and the drawn look to her pale face.  And in her arms…_

_Yeah, that’s him.  Wheezing and coughing and sniffling and struggling to take a proper breath as she rocks him back and forth, trying to get him to breathe deeply.  He’s pasty and skinny and anemic and all of those things that kept him out of the army the first times he tried to enlist.  And tiny.  His mother was a small, deceptively delicate looking woman and he’d always favored her build until the serum.  Steve looks down at his adult self.  He expects that in this dream especially he should see his scrawny former self there, like he has to match that vision that’s in front of him.  But no, he’s in that shining new body that sometimes, on those overwhelming days, still doesn’t quite feel like it’s properly his.  Regardless of those feelings, Steve likes to think that Ma would have been proud of the man he became._

_“It’s all right, my love,” Sarah murmurs in a soft, low voice as she rubs a hand up and down his heaving back.  Huh.  He’d almost forgotten that, how her native accent got thicker and richer the more tired she was._

_“Is that - ?”_

_He cuts off Darcy’s hushed whisper with a sharp shake of his head.  “Just…later,” he whispers back, like any word he says out loud is enough to shatter the illusion and let the memory fade back into nothingness.  Steve doesn’t want to let go of it, not just yet._

_Darcy just nods.  He can feel the warmth of her against his side where they’re both squeezed into the small space between the bed and the hallway.  But no words.  They’re really not needed right now._

_Steve sees his younger self let out a miserable sounding cough, followed up by a few raspy breaths.  The slight moan that follows would have been even more pathetic if he isn’t fully aware of just how awful all of those colds and coughs made him feel._

_“Don’t you worry,” Sarah says again, “we’re going to knock this little illness right out of you.”  She sounds more confident than she feels, Steve knows.  Even with all of her experience she’s never sure which will be one cold too much for him._

_It’s not worth thinking about what ifs that never were, however.  But it’s nice to treasure it for what it is: a faded memory that now only exists in his head alone.  Sarah starts humming under her breath, one of those tunes that had been old even when she was a baby, or so her story went, at least.  The words make their way in eventually, helping to lull the little boy in her arms to sleep._

_‘One morning in July_

_Down a bóithrín green came a sweet cailín_

_And she smiled as she passed me by._

_Oh she looked so sweet from her two bare feet…’_

_Steve just closes his eyes and lets himself get lost in her voice, head tilted back against the dingy, painted walls._

_Somewhere in the middle of the song Darcy leans her head on his shoulder, and he hopes she’s listening as intently as he is.  Steve reaches with his foot and nudges it against her because he feels like a five year old again.  She doesn’t say anything, just nudges him right back._

Steve wakes up far earlier than he would have liked with a song on the tip of his tongue.  He scribbles down the scant few lines he remembers, thinking that he’ll be able to find out which song it is and maybe, possibly, find a copy of the record still out there.  And even if his skills aren’t up to par, he knows Darcy’ll be able to work her computer magic to find what he’s looking for.  It’s far, far too early to wake her up for more information, however.  A nightmare may get a pass but he didn’t think that would fly as well because of a song.

            The boxing gym is open, and if nothing else that’ll help take him out of his head for a little while.

            Two destroyed heavy bags later it’s not quite out of his system, but he’s sweaty and energized, which is a damn sight better than being morose and lost in thought.

            “Hey, Steve!”

            He spins in place on the stoop of his building to see Darcy and Jess come out of theirs.  “Good morning, ladies,” he says with a nod.

            Darcy says something quick to Jess, then bounds over in his direction.  Without much warning she practically tackles him in a hug, arms wrapping tightly around his waist.  Before he can react (instead of standing there dumbfounded like some stupid mook) she leans up to whisper at him, “You looked like you could use it after last night.”

            “Thanks,” is all he says, one of his arms falling around her shoulders.

            “We’re going down to the park again to get breakfast,” she says once they pull apart.  “You hungry?”

            Food may be just the thing, he thinks.  “Yeah.  Okay.”

 

            Breakfast almost hits a snag when Darcy steps on a particularly damp stair as they head down into the subway, sending her tumbling down the last few feet of the stairway.  And while she hopes the only thing damaged is her pride, the sudden inability to put weight on her left ankle says otherwise.  “We’ll figure it out on the train,” she says, waving an arm at the approaching cars.

            Jess grimaces and picks at something stuck in Darcy’s hair once they’re settled into seats.  “You probably don’t want to know what you landed in,” she says.

            Darcy just shakes her head with a frozen grin.  The grin quickly morphs into a wince as Steve finishes pulling her boot off.  Out of the three of them he’s the only one who has anything even remotely resembling first aid training.  Yes, it may be seventy years out of date, but a broken bone’s still a broken bone.  “Ow,” she says, rather pathetically, as Steve manipulates her now bare foot to see the extent of the damage.  His hands are a little rough, but deft, Darcy notices.  And they’re warm.  She can feel the heat bleeding into her skin, and it takes away a little of the pain.

            After a few seconds of poking, prodding, and bending he looks back up at Darcy.  “It’s not broken,” he says, cradling the heel in the palm of his hand, “but it’s already starting to swell up so you’ve probably got a pretty nasty sprain going on.”

            “Just fucking ducky,” Darcy groans, letting her head fall back against the seat.  

            “We can get off at the next stop and head home to get that taken care of,” Jess chimes in, but Darcy shakes her head.

            “Nope.  I want breakfast,” she says.  “I’ll hobble if I have to.  It’ll become the hot new thing to do in Park Slope, limping everywhere.  They’ll design uneven heeled shoes to recreate the effect.”

            Steve just gives her a look.  It’s a look he’s familiar with, having leveled the same one on Bucky after deciding to take a stupider than normal risk.  At which point Bucky threw it right back in Steve’s face about stupid risks, but Darcy didn’t need to know that.  “Jess is right.  You need to get off that ankle and get some ice on it.”

            “And then what happens?  I sit around all day and do nothing aside from a Tumblr binge?”

            “Not exactly a hard thing to do,” Jess muses, head tilted in thought.  “I like the gifsets.”

            “No one appreciates a gif full of eye candy more than I do, but that’s not what I want right now.”  She grabs Jess by the arm of her coat and shakes gently.  “I need life blood.  Without it I’ll become a zombie, forced to walk the earth and only depend on brains for food.”

            Jess rolls her eyes, and Steve scrubs a hand over his face in sympathy.  “I really don’t think going without coffee for one day will reduce you to that.”  She glances over at him.  “A little help here?” she asks, jerking her head in Darcy’s direction.

            Before Steve can chime in with backup Darcy interrupts them.  “I’ve got a better idea,” she says, turning her gaze over to Steve.  “How much can you carry?”

 

            This is how Steve ends up carrying Darcy piggyback style from the train to the park, with his hands supporting her legs and her arms wrapped tightly around his neck.  Jess follows behind them, doing a very poor job of muffling her giggles and darting around to snap the occasional picture.  Her other contribution to the whole thing is to carry Darcy’s boot, which is just a bit too snug to fit over her swollen ankle.

            “Do you feel like a pack mule yet?” Darcy asks in his ear as they make their way over to the food trucks.

            Steve smirks, shaking his head.  They’re getting stares from passersby, but Darcy and Jess claim that of all the strange things in Brooklyn these days (and since when did Brooklyn become the home of the weird, anyway?) a woman being carried on someone’s back through a park barely rates on the weird scale.  Or so she says.  Still, he’s not going to drop her where he stands to spare a little embarrassment.  And he’s reminded exactly why he’s doing this when her swollen ankle bobs in and out of his view occasionally.  If he could survive the USO shows and all those entailed, a simple walk through the park is nothing.  “I’ve carried a lot heavier for a lot longer,” he says.  “I think I’ll be okay.”

            “Yeah, but most guys I know wouldn’t go along with my cunning plan, so props to you.”  She rests her chin on the back of his head.  “But seriously.  Thanks, Steve.”

            “You’re welcome.”

            Barrett’s reaction when they arrive at his food truck, however, is exactly how Steve expects most people would react to them.  “What the fuck did you do?” he asks, poking his head out of the order window and shoving some lank brown hair off of his sweaty forehead with his arm.

            “You know, stairs and me, we just don’t always get along,” Darcy says, shaking her head in mock sadness.

            “Do you have any ice?” Steve asks before Darcy’s explanation gets even more outlandish.  Because he knows she’d take it as far as possible until Barrett throws a muffin at her.  It’s actually kind of cute, he thinks.

            The food truck doesn’t have ice to spare, but a homemade yogurt stall across from them donates some from a mostly empty cooler.  The yogurt is pretty good too, especially when enhanced with some granola from another tent.  While Jess runs around looking for whatever food she can fill herself up with this week, Steve finds an out of the way bench and sets to work wrapping up Darcy’s injury somewhat. 

He wraps the scarf around her aching ankle one last time and ties the ends together firmly, making sure both knit wrapper and ice pack aren’t going to budge anytime soon.  “Thanks,” Darcy says as she slumps down against the arm of the bench.  Her injured foot stays put in his lap.  “I think my whole body is one giant bruise now.”  She winces and tries to find the most comfortable position possible, without much success.

            “You took a pretty nasty spill onto concrete.  You’re going to hurt for a few days.”

            She holds up her injured leg, twisting it from side to side to check out the makeshift bandaging.  “Still, nice job.  Cold as hell but I guess that’s the point.”

            Steve shrugs and checks the knot once more.  “It’s a quick and easy way to get the swelling down, that’s all.  You’re still going to have to keep it up for a few days.”

            “Your mom teach you that?” Darcy asks, making Steve look up at her sharply, his face going still.  “I recognize the uniform,” she continues, hearkening back to the dream from the night before.

            Steve relaxes, then nods.  The statement catches him a little off guard, he has to admit.  He hasn’t been expecting Darcy to mention his mother, but he supposes he shouldn’t be surprised at this by now.  “She did.  Between that and the first aid training from the Army I know how to wrap up a sprained ankle pretty well.”

            “Amongst other things, I’m guessing.”

            “Yeah.”  He plays with the knot once more, like it’s easier to keep his hands busy than sit there and fidget in his seat.  “You know, she died long before I…joined the Army.  And I can’t help but wonder what she’d think of all this.”  He waves a hand around, as if he can encompass everything he wants to say with one simple hand gesture.

            “This as in the Rip van Winkle stuff or the--” She makes an expansive gesture with her hands, trying to imitate the effects of the serum, and rather badly at that.  What’s worse is that Steve understands exactly what she’s trying to get across without hardly any effort at all.  “That thing,” she concludes.

            “Either.  Both.  I don’t know.  Never mind; I’m just thinking out loud.”

            “Beats me.  All I know is from that dream.  I don’t think I’ve actually ever heard you say anything about her.  Still,” she gently knocks the toes of her injured foot against his stomach very carefully so as to keep them from further bruising (because damn, boy’s got some serious muscles, she thinks), “you turned out pretty good so she must’ve done something right.”

            “I wasn’t exactly a perfect son,” Steve says.  Definitely not a perfect solder either, as he’d once been warned in a statement that sticks with him to this day.

             “Who said anything about perfect?  I didn’t mention the word perfect at all.”  Darcy shakes her head and stretches up to poke him in the shoulder, which is far less than the thumping he suspects she wants to give him.  “I’ve met you; I know full well you’re not perfect.  Not the way you get all sulky and broody.  You brood worse than a sparkly vampire.”

            “I don’t know what that means.”  He doesn’t say anything about the rest of the statement because, well, she’s not exactly wrong.

            “There are some things about this era that you are better off not knowing, and sparkly vampires are one of them,” Darcy says with an inelegant snort.

            Steve readjusts the ice pack on her ankle once more, trying to make sure that it covers as much of the injury as possible.  “Never run away,” he eventually mutters when he can’t find any more adjustments to make to the wrapping.

            “Hmm?”

            “’Never run away.’  It was something my ma used to say to me.  She’d say that I would be doing myself and everyone else a disservice if I ran away at the first sign of trouble and didn’t stand up for what I believed in, because if you keep running away then you’ll never stop.  It made a lasting impression.”

            Darcy shoots him an appraising look, like if she stares at him hard enough she’ll be able to see right into the inner workings of his brain and even into his soul if she tries hard enough.

            “I can totally see it,” she says.  “Tell me more.”

            They trade quick snippets and stories until Jess returns laden with a feast fit for even the hungriest of people and wondering why exactly they’re laughing so hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that Sarah sings in the dream is called ‘The Star of County Down’. While there are many versions out there, the one that I listened to while writing it is this one by Loreena McKennitt: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TzN2g60BMA0&feature=share&list=PL0rpegRyNI5feTwhosVREyPYae8ZbdEgF
> 
> Have any questions about the series, or looking for little future tidbits of what’s to come in this universe? Hit up my tumblr at aenariasbookshelf.tumblr.com. Thanks for reading!


	6. I’m Not the Carefullest of Girls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trying to fill in the blanks for those not in the know about Steve's situation isn't exactly easy. This can lead to stress and some poor word choices, as Darcy learns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Merideath and EyebrowsofJustice for whipping this chapter into shape for me in their own unique ways. It is always appreciated, and I hope you enjoy the results. Thanks for reading!

**I’m Not the Carefullest of Girls**

 

            “Face it, Darcy, you like this guy.”  Jess crosses her arms over her chest and stares down at Darcy, sitting on her narrow bed with her back against the wall.  Darcy just glares right back at her, not willing to acknowledge any sort of statement on the matter of Steve.  Not that there is anything to divulge, and it really isn’t anyone’s business anyway.  “And not in the friendly handshake sort of a way,” Jess pushes on, “but in the ‘I wanna jump your bones and have your babies’ sort of a way.”

            “Uh, I don’t think so,” Darcy says, resisting the urge to scoff in her roommate’s face.  This is an issue that needs to be handled with every ounce of maturity she possesses.

            “I don’t know about that,” Jane chimes in from the laptop.  They’d been Skyping when Jess had walked in with late night popcorn, and somehow the conversation had turned to discussing Darcy’s love life, which apparently only existed in the heads of Jane and Jess.  “The fact that you didn’t mention anything about him until now speaks volumes, really.  I wouldn’t have known a thing until Jess came in here talking about the guy who carried you through the park on Saturday.  _Carried._ ”

            “Like a damsel in distress,” Jess grins, poking around at some of the trinkets Darcy had set up on the lone set of shelves shoved into one corner.  The shelves are rickety and scuffed up, but they were calling out to be rescued from goodwill, Darcy fully believes.

            Darcy holds up her leg so that Jane can see her still wrapped ankle.  “I fell down a flight of stairs!”  The swelling’s gone down but the bruising’s still fairly intense, and Jane can easily see the purplish greenish marks on her toes.

            Jess rolls her eyes.  “It was three steps,” she fires back.  “You just landed badly.  In any case he didn’t have to carry you throughout the entire park just so you could get your damn coffee.”

            “He’s a gentleman; he’d do it for anybody.”  She isn’t lying about that.  She knows Steve is the type of person to give a guy the shirt off his back if he needed it without hesitation – even if the guy didn’t deserve it and it embarrassed the hell out of him in the process.  He hid it well, but Darcy also knows that he was a little uncomfortable about the people who looked twice at the grown woman getting a piggyback ride.

            Jess bends over the bed to look at Jane through the monitor, who just shakes her head sadly.  “Gentleman or not, Darcy, that’s above and beyond,” Jane says.

            “And seriously, you can’t tell me that you wouldn’t want to take that gorgeous piece of ass out for a spin if the chance comes up?” Jess asks, flopping on the bed next to Darcy and dodging the piece of popcorn that’s swiftly winged in her direction.  Darcy looks over at Jane’s earnest face on the screen to the right at her, and then glances back at Jess.  Total rock and a hard place here, she thinks.  “Besides, when was the last time you got laid?” Jess continues, utterly oblivious to Darcy’s discomfort.

            “Do you have any pictures?” Jane asks, listing to the side as if she’s trying to bypass Darcy and look directly at Jess.

            “Culver bitches are always prepared,” Jess says with a smirk.  “I got some of the piggyback ride.  I’ll send them over to you in a bit.”

            “Excellent.”

            “You’re not going to let me live that down, are you?”

            “Nope,” says Jane.

            Jess chimes in with, “No way.”

            “Okay, that’s it.  You two are totally out of the will.”

            Jess frowns and twists so she can look Darcy straight in the eye.  “What aren’t you saying?” she asks.  “Because this hesitancy thing is so not Darcy Lewis.  Any other time you’d be all for asking him out on a date.  You wouldn’t be this fucking cagey unless there was something else going on.  Is he married?  Does he have a secret family somewhere?  Night job as a drag queen?”

            _No, but there is that whole Captain thing_ , Darcy thinks, resisting the urge to break out in nervous giggles.  But there is at least the kernel of an idea brewing.  If it works, it’ll get them off her ass, at least for a little while.  And they definitely won’t be bothering Steve with any nosy questions.  “This goes no further than the three of us,” she says, rapidly flicking her head back and forth between Jane and Jess so fast she’s almost dizzy.  Tread lightly, she reminds herself.  “I was told this in confidence, so don’t go blabbing it everywhere.  You know Steve used to be in the army.  He just got back from overseas only a couple of months ago, and he hasn’t exactly had the easiest time of it.  He lost a lot of close people over there.”

            And oh, god, isn’t that the understatement of the century?  Technically not one word out of her mouth is a lie, so props to her.  But there’s one final, flourishing touch to add.  “He also had a girl.  Over there.”

            _Agent Carter, wherever you are, please forgive me for this_ , she thinks desperately.  “She died, pretty unexpectedly, right before he came back.”

            “Wait, he told you all this?” Jane asks, lips parted with slight incredulity.

            “He told me enough.  It wasn’t hard to piece the rest of it together.”

            “But he never said he wasn’t interested in you, did he?”

            “Jane!” Darcy howled, grabbing a nearby pillow and burying her face in it.  Why are these people her friends again?

            Jane just shrugs innocently.  “Hey, my love life…well, you know what that’s like right now,” she says, sparing all details so that technically neither she nor Darcy end up violating the shit-ton of NDAs that were forced on them by S.H.I.E.L.D. in the aftermath of Thor’s visit.  “I’m due to live vicariously through you.”

            Darcy pulls the pillow off her face and stares at the opposite wall, her lips pursed and jaw set.  “For the last time, I’m not interested in him.”

            “Bullshit,” they chorus.  Darcy just lifts a finger in the air, cutting them off.

            “Two, even if he was into me like that – which he’s not – he’s in no way ready or, really, willing to enter into a serious relationship right now.”

            ‘Liar, liar, pants on fire,” a little voice in her head whispers before Darcy firmly shoves it back in its cage.

            “And three,” Darcy finishes, trying to wrap the whole matter and stick a pretty little bow on top of it, “while he is attractive – an observation I can make in a totally objective way – he’s not exactly the type of guy I usually go for.”  Offering to do CPR on Thor was an exception because Thor, hello.

            The little voice tries to pop up once more, and this time Darcy mentally shuts it down with a padlock as well.

            Jane and Jess trade a look that implies a loaded conversation in the space of a second.  “She does have a point,” Jane says.

            Jess nods thoughtfully and gives Darcy a look.  “You always did prefer those skinny, artsy sort of guys, didn’t you?”

            The little voice in her head just cackles evilly at that one.

 

            _Darcy dreams of blackness.  Or, rather, her dream starts out as blackness.  Then, from the corner of her eye, a glowing streak flies past, a brief shooting star that disappears almost as quickly as it comes._

_It’s all black again, but then another colored line zooms past on her other size.  Then another flies by, this one electric blue.  Then again, in a yellow so pale it’s almost white.  The streaks come faster and faster, spreading and branching out into a neon, candy-colored grid that stretches further than her eye can see.  The sharp lines bend themselves into long, skinny rectangles, square boxes, hexagon style cubes, and every other shape that can be created with straight lines and angles._

_When Darcy was a kid back in those innocent days before she knew the science behind how things worked, this is exactly what she imagined the inside of the internet looked like.  Informed by cartoons and TV shows that her young self probably shouldn’t have been watching, this was the world she’d created in her head.  In this world, she could travel around faster than the speed of light and connect herself to absolutely everything that was out there, right at her fingertips._

_Darcy admits she had an overactive imagination as a child._

_She holds up her hand and watches as the warm flesh tone of her skin lightens and whitens and cools down until all that’s left is a transparent hand shape outlined in a flash purple light.  The surface of her hand glitters like the night sky, all aglow with purple stars.  Her skin feels like it’s got sparks coming from inside it, and she instinctively knows that this is the perfect way to navigate this world of hers._

_Steve is standing next to her, looking like he did before the Army got its hands on him.  He’s skinny as all get out and only a scant few inches taller than she is, but there’s a fierce, determined set to his jaw that looks an awful lot like the heroic jawline from the comic books back in the day.  ‘Both versions are pretty damn hot,’ that traitorous internal voice pipes up, and she viciously shoves it back in the box, adding a heavy metal chain to the padlock.  But the sight does answer the eternal question (at least in certain internet circles) of which came first: the hero or the serum?  She now knows the hero was always there; the serum just gave him the body to act on it._

_She pokes him in the arm with her transparent hand, and waggles starlit fingers at him when he looks her way.  “Race you,” she says, smirking almost evilly.  She reaches up to take hold of the nearest illuminated line.  The glittering, transparent effect then takes over the rest of her body, turning her into a cluster of stars with a human shape, the purple sparks gleaming richly amongst the blackness and neon.  It’s much easier to ride the lines in this shape, and she can feel her body settling into the pathways that will give her access to any place imaginable.  “Ready, set, go!” she calls, her voice bursting forth with a shower of sparks and an electronic tinkle._

_Without waiting, Darcy twists her hand and sets off, flying through the wires.  She doesn’t tell Steve the trick to ride the lines, but he’s smart.  He’ll figure it out and catch up with her in no time at all.  Hell, he’ll probably end up beating the pants off of her knowing his skills._

_The lines are labyrinthine, running in, out, up, and around with no care for physics or the laws of nature.  The exhilaration is palpable, making Darcy twist, flip, and tumble as she flies through pathways made of light and electricity.  She loves this feeling._

_On a line running parallel to hers, an even brighter streak of cobalt blue that stands out from the neon shades keeps pace with her, darts a little way forward, and then tumbles back until he’s even with her once more.  “Cheat!” Darcy hollers at him, knowing instinctively that her voice will carry._

_“It’s not cheating if I’m just better at it than you are!” Steve fires back, the blue streak that his figure’s become jumping between different lines.  It’s like he’s deliberately going slow and stalling, just to needle her.  Darcy puts on a fresh burst of speed and leaps over into his line, attempting to trip him up._

_They play tag in the neon lines for what could be hours.  When your body is composed of light the restrictions of what you can do with that body seem to be relaxed and more willing to do what you need it to rather than what you expect it to do.  It’s then that Darcy thinks would be the perfect time to inform Steve of the conversation she’d had earlier – not all of it because he really doesn’t need to know some of the things those two idiots were saying about her feelings (which were so untrue anyway).  She’s got no clue as to why they think she’s falling for Steve.  Because she’s not.  Really._

_There’s a trope for that, the internal voice says with a knowing tone.  It’s called ‘suspiciously specific deni--‘  The voice gets firmly shoved back into its box once more.  But he probably should be aware of the backstory she sort of but not really created on the fly for him._

_Besides, it’s the perfect place to do it, here buried in this dream world where they’re the only two people in existence. Who on Earth is going to be able to find out what they’re saying in here aside from the two of them?  The level of safety is a bit of a comfort._

_“Hey, Steve?” Darcy calls out._

_“Yeah?”_

_“So, no shit, true story…”_

_“You told them Peggy was dead.”  Steve shakes his head, mouth agape like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing.  Maybe he can’t, Darcy thinks.  After everything he’s been through it’s the one little fairy tale out of her mouth that really pushes him over the edge of sanity, and it’s all her fault._

_After Darcy’s bombshell (which, frankly, isn’t anywhere near bombshell status.  Minor inconvenience, yes, but not bombshell) Steve needs to stop and take a breather.  It’s more of a psychological thing than anything else, she presumes.  They still look like the star creatures, outline and image with only the suggestion of substance.  She highly doubts his lungs have suddenly decided to give up on him, but nonetheless he needs to stop, trying to catch his breath as he asks her to repeat herself.  So they stop on the nearest platform, made of glossy black material edged in neon and slump down on there, resting their backs against what feels like a wall but probably really isn’t._

_“Why the hell would you say something like that?” Steve barrels on, oblivious to the chagrined look taking over Darcy’s outlined face.  “She’s not dead.”_

_“They were ganging up on me!” Darcy nearly shouts.  “You have not seen Jane when she gets fixated on something.  She’s like a dog with a bone and won’t pull her teeth out until she’s ripped it to shreds.  Why the fuck do you think she’s still trying to rebuild the Bifrost bridge?  They freaked me out, and when that happens my come-up-with-the-best-story-possible skills fall a little short!”_

_“But why did you have to say she was dead?” Steve asks, running his hands over his face and making some of the glowing particles scatter._

_Darcy throws her hands up in the air, resisting the urge to dope slap Steve upside the head.  She doesn’t quite get where this fierce resistance is coming from.  “I didn’t exactly have much time to prep, if it isn’t obvious.  And for short notice, I think I did pretty damn good.”  One of her arms goes so wide that it should smack Steve in the arm but instead it goes right through, blue and purple particles meshing together like spilled glitter.  “Huh.  Cool.”  She pulls her hand back, separating the colors and body parts.  Then she thrusts her hand back, watching in undisguised glee as it melds with his arm once more.  “Dude, you have to check this out.”_

_Steve turns to her, open-mouthed as if to say something, but is stopped clear in his tracks at the sight of Darcy’s hand passing directly through his arm and out the other side.  “Is it just me or do these dreams keep getting stranger and stranger?” he blurts out._

_“Strange or not, this is awesome,” Darcy says, kicking out a foot and watching as it sinks into his calf.  When Steve attempts to elbow her in the side, she can see the blue particles of his arm coming to rest somewhere in her ribcage._

_“Your head is a very odd place,” Steve comments, watching warily as she grabs his forearm, lifts it, and presses her own arm to it until they merge into one limb, the purple and blue particles combining and merging to form one singular shape._

_“Computers are my comfort zone,” Darcy says, marveling at how seamlessly their arms have managed to fit together.  “That or I watched Tron too many times as a kid, which is totally my dad’s fault, by the way.”  She’s always been more of her father’s daughter anyway._

_“Your parents seem like interesting people.”_

_“Not really.  They’re surprisingly normal.”_

_A few more seconds of silence pass before Steve starts speaking again.  “So many of them are already dead and buried,” he says slowly and carefully, as if he’s fishing around in that brain of his for the proper vocabulary._

_Darcy nods, understanding hitting her all at once.  “And you don’t want to lose any of them any earlier than you have to, even if it is just to some fake story.  I’ll go back and tell them something different when I wake up,” she starts, but is cut off by Steve’s head shaking before she can take the thought any further._

_“You go changing that story now it’ll look even more suspicious.”  He sighs and slumps further against the wall, pulling Darcy and their still meshed arms along with him.  “As much as I hate the story it is a really good way to stop them from asking any more questions.”_

_“Jess is big on comfort food if you can’t tell; she’d probably just feed you instead.”  Darcy looks over at him, sees his profile outlined in the sparks and the way he’s gazing resolutely ahead.  “For what it’s worth, I didn’t mean to get you upset like that.”_

_Darcy imagines that she can see Steve’s lips curve upward ever so slightly.  “It’s all right.  You didn’t know.”_

_“Still…I wonder how the hell you put up with me sometimes.”  It’s an insecure and nervous statement, and it slips past her lips before she can stop it.  For all the confidence she has, there’s that well of insecurity right below the surface that bubbles up more often than she’d like.  And while she knows Steve appreciates the honesty, especially given everything that he’s gone through, there is such a thing as being too honest._

_Steve turns slightly to look at her, lips still curved in that odd smile.  The outline of his eyes glow from the blue particles, even more intense in the darkness of this world.  “When I have an answer to that,” he says, lips forming a smirk as he talks, “I’ll let you know.”_

_Steve answers that statement eventually, at a time when Darcy least expects it, and with something far deeper than she’d ever imagined.  She’s not complaining in the slightest._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Girl Anachronism, by the Dresden Dolls.


	7. Welcome to the Tea Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreams can be strange, there's no denying that. There's also no going back either, not when your dreams bring things to light that you may have wanted to keep hidden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am hideously late with updating this story, and I apologize for that! Real life has gotten serious over the last month, and my writing time has been cut down a bit. I know that many of you have left comments that I haven't replied to yet, so please know that I appreciate every single one of your comments and kudos. Thank you so very, very much. :)
> 
> And so, here is the next chapter. This chapter is a little more adult than the others, but there's nothing here that - by Ao3 standards at least - would be above a teen rating. Chapters to come, however, I can't guarantee that, so just giving you a heads up now...
> 
> Also, if you see any glaring grammatical errors, please point them out to me? I haven't looked over this piece as hard as I normally do, so some things may have slipped through the cracks.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

_The first thing Steve feels is warmth, deep and penetrating, all over his body.  It soaks into his skin and seeps into his bones.  He’s comfortable, to the point that he doesn’t want to open his eyes because that just may make the warmth go away.  There are faint noises coming from around him, however, little delicate clinks of glass on glass and low, earthy giggles that intrigue him, make him want to investigate further._

_He opens his eyes onto a world that’s brighter than normal, like that first time he stepped out of the Vita Ray chamber and experienced the full spectrum of color that lay before him.  The grass that covers the softly rolling hills and valleys shines like a cut emerald, while the leaves above his head gleam like polished leather.  The sky is a rich, clear blue, providing a deep contrast to the white clouds that put him in mind of dandelion puffs that drift by on the wind._

_In front of Steve sits a low table, just a few inches off the grass.  Shiny silver trays are laden with tiny sandwiches made from white bread and multicolored fillings, thin crispy cookies, and latticed, flaky pastries.  There’s a full tea setting, cups, saucers, creamers, and a teapot all made from floral pattern printed fine white china that looks delicate enough that one strong breath from him would be enough to crack them.  Peggy and Darcy are seated across from each other at the table as well, paying him no mind as they serve up the tea._

_And both of them are fully naked, bare as the day they were born.  Steve swallows rather roughly, realizing that he’s not wearing anything either.  But not everything is on display, and there’s more intrigue in what’s hidden than what’s easily seen.  Peggy’s legs are curled up, leaving the long, pale line of her thigh and the curve of her backside while keeping other parts carefully concealed.  Darcy’s legs are stretched out under the table, well into the shadows, but the more intriguing sight is the way her long hair falls onto her shoulders and over her breasts like water, skin peeking out between the loose tendrils that are flying everywhere.  Give her a horse and she should be Lady Godiva, Steve thinks.  Darcy’s braced on one arm but otherwise loose and relaxed, the teacup practically dangling from her fingers where she holds the handle.  Peggy looks more composed, but then she always did in his memories, hair carefully arrayed and red lipstick painted across a smiling mouth._

_The two women are giggling about something he can’t quite make out, so Steve scoots his way closer to the table to join the party.  The two women smile at him, and Peggy leans over to leave a reddish kiss mark on his cheek.  Steve very carefully keeps his gaze to shoulder level and above, at least while she’s that close to him.  “Hello, darling,” she says._

_Darcy just shoots him a knowing look, and he can tell she’s trying very hard not to burst out into laughter once more._

_“Hi,” Steve eventually says once he finds his tongue.  “So I guess it’s teatime?”_

_Darcy loses it, curling over the table as she laughs long and loud.  Peggy just shakes her head, the look on her face a mixture of faux despair and fondness.  “Good guess, Sherlock,” Darcy says around one final giggle._

_Steve isn’t at all amused, and hopes his look tells her as much.  Darcy just picks up a plate and extends it towards him.  “Sandwich?” she offers.  “I think they’re cucumber.”_

_He warily takes the plate from her and helps himself to one of the sandwiches.  When in Rome and all that, because that’s the normal order of things in this place.  But the sandwich barely tastes like anything in his mouth, just water and crunch and not much else._

_The distaste must be clear on his face going by the way Darcy winces and pulls the plate back.  “I know what you mean; I’ve never been a big fan of cucumber either.”  She glances over at Peggy, pink lips pursed and her eyebrows arching high above the frames of her glasses.  “Mind if I try something?” she asks._

_“Go right ahead,” Peggy says._

_“Good.”  Darcy nods, then waves a hand at Steve.  “Keep him occupied?”_

_In the space of a single breath Steve finds Peggy curled up next to him, pushing him back until he’s lying in the soft grasses.  She stretches herself out alongside him and props herself up on an elbow to look directly in his face.  He can feel her skin where it rests against his, warm palm on the center of his chest, a leg flung over his thighs, and her upper body stretched out along his, moving softly with her steady breaths.  “Hello,” she says again, smiling down at him._

_“Hi.” Steve slides a hand into her hair, stroking his fingers through the strands and along the back of her head.  “God, it’s good to see you.”_

_The look she gives him is tinged with sadness, the slight lines around her eyes growing tense and downturned.  “I’m not really here, you know.”_

_Yes, he knows this, but it’s his dream and damn if he’s not going to pretend everything is all right with the world.  “Doesn’t matter,” he says.  “How have you been?”_

_That look is back on Peggy’s face, and she shakes her head at him.  “I’m just a memory, darling.  I can’t have new experiences when I exist only in your head.”_

_“It’s a…” His tongue stumbles over his words, knowing that the wrong choice could shatter the entire illusion.  “…nice memory,” he settles on, then winces at how damn weak it sounds._

_Peggy slides her hand up to cup his cheek, turning him to face her in a way that he knows he won’t be able to escape it.  “But a memory won’t be able to grow and flourish, become something newer and better than what it was.”_

_“And if I like that memory just the way it is?”_

_“Then you treasure it and don’t let it hold you back from moving forward.”  She kisses him once, swift and firm right on the lips.  “And really, I don’t think you’re admitting to yourself fully just how interesting you find the future.”_

_“They still don’t have flying cars,” Steve says, if only to see how Peggy will react to it._

_Peggy just presses her lips together and gives him another look.  It’s not quite as intense as the look that ended up with him catching a few bullets right in the shield in the middle of the labs, but it’s close.  “Of all the things about the future that’s what you harp on?”_

_“Hey, Howard said he was only a few years away from making it work.”  He gets slightly distracted by her polished nails sliding down to trace patterns on his bare chest, aimless paths that do a fine job of stimulating the senses._

_“All right, check this shit out,” Darcy calls, her voice carrying over the grass to where they’re lying.  There’s a tone in her voice behind the sharp words that gets Steve’s attention, like he can almost hear the bubbles in there even though she’s not laughing at all.  With one arm around Peggy’s back he uses the other to push them to an upright position.  He…isn’t quite sure what to make of the sight that meets his eyes._

_Covering the entire surface of the table are multi-tiered trays overflowing with cupcakes.  Some of the cakes are large enough to sit comfortably in the palm of his hand, while others are smaller, perfect little bite sized morsels.  The different shades and flavors of frosting create a rainbow colored mosaic that stands out even from the saturated colors of the landscape.  There’s artistry in every cake too, Steve notices.  Some have tiny flowers that look like they’ve been carved directly from a sugar cube.  Others use silver, pearl, and gold dragées to create swirls, stars, and other patterns embedded in layers of rich icing.  Others still sparkle in the high sunlight, glittering little flakes standing out from the frosting below and giving them unexpected texture.  Behind all this stands the Queen of the Cupcakes herself, her arms crossed over her chest and a smug grin on her lips._

_“It’s amazing what you can do in here sometimes,” Darcy says, staring down at her creations with what can only be called pride.  She looks up at Steve and shrugs.  “The amount of control I had was surprising.”_

_Steve tries his absolute best not to let his eyes linger over Darcy’s nude figure but it’s a difficult task, and he’s no monk with deep reserves of self-control.  He is, especially in times like this when he doesn’t have to hide part of himself from the world, just a guy.  While Darcy seems to like to hide her figure away in the waking world, in this dream she’s exposed for everyone – or at least himself and Peggy – to see.  There’s something very Renaissance about her body, lots and lots of curves from the way her breasts hang and lead to a nipped in waist, flaring back out into her hips.  Pale skin even in this sunlight looks soft, and the dark triangle between her legs holds a world’s worth of untold secrets.  When his eyes flick back up to her face her lower lip is clutched between her teeth, and she’s staring right at him as if she thinks he’s got the answer to a question he hasn’t figured out how to ask just yet._

_That, or she wants to devour him whole.  There’s a part of him that wouldn’t mind that, possibly._

_A shudder races down his spine, and he can feel his face begin to get warm._

_“Darcy, stop your gawping and bring those fairy cakes over here,” Peggy breaks in, shattering the building stillness and dragging Steve back to what at least passes for reality in the dream._

_Darcy’s mouth tightens just a bit at the corners and she squints, just slightly, like she’d be able to read Peggy’s mind if she tries hard enough.  Peggy’s just calm, smiling steadily and unwavering.  She’s looked like that before, during times when they used to plan out battle strategies and they’ve hit on a surefire method for smoking the bastards out of their foxholes.  Steve is immediately suspicious, and he braces himself for what’s coming next._

_Then Darcy smirks, lips spreading and curving just enough to make Steve even more nervous.  “Get your ass over here and get your own damn cupcakes,” Darcy fires right back.  Her legs fold like a rag doll’s and she sits at the table.  Her eyes scan the spread in front of her, flicking back and forth until they apparently spot exactly what they’re looking for.  She chooses a cupcake with tiny stars piped in glittering red gel and, in a most unladylike fashion, sinks her teeth into the top of it._

_Peggy grins, and nudges him in the side.  “Get moving, soldier,” she says, and slides back over to the table._

_Steve’s not quite sure what just happened, but he’s convinced that he knows women even less than he ever did before.  As the two women seem to be on friendly terms once more (did what just happen between them even count as a disagreement, anyway?) Steve mentally puts it all aside and joins them at the table._

_Two cups of tea and countless cupcakes later, a small battle breaks out when both he and Darcy reach for the same cupcake at once - chocolate chip cake with a raspberry liqueur frosting and complimentary pink and orange  glitter swirls on top that look like a sunset.  Steve’s a hair too late on the grab and finds the cupcake he wants is currently cradled in Darcy’s hands, being stared at as if there aren’t hundreds more right there on the table._

_“Hey!”_

_“You snooze, you lose, Rogers.”  Darcy holds the cupcake close to her, leaning back and playing a bit of keep away, maybe in the hopes that he won’t go after her._

_And dammit, she’s right about that; he’s not going to get violent over a cupcake.  “Didn’t your mother ever teach you to share?” Steve asks, knowing full well the comment will really get her goat.  He may not get violent over a cupcake, but he’s also not above playing dirty._

_Darcy scrunches her nose up and looks hard at him.  She looks down at the cupcake in her hands, then up at Steve, and then back once more to the cupcake.  Slowly enough that he can’t take his eyes off of it, she drags a finger through the thick layer of frosting.  When she’s gathered a satisfactory amount of frosting she extends her finger in his direction, the dollop on the end a pink and orange swirled cloud with streaks of the edible glitter woven through like veins._

_“No, Darcy.”  Steve doesn’t quite know what she’s playing at, but he’s not biting.  So to speak._

_“What are you, chicken?” she says, smirking._

_“It’s unhygienic, is what it is,” is the only protest he can come up with, and even to his ear it sounds weak.  But never let it be said that Steve isn’t stubborn enough to stand firmly by his statements…even if they’re slightly inaccurate ones._

_Darcy isn’t quite buying it either.  “Really, that’s the best you can come up with?”  She leans forward and jabs her finger at him, giving him a rather nice view of her breasts in the process.  There’s a valiant effort not to look down, but it’s almost involuntary the way his eyes stray below her collarbone.  “Come on,” she continues, and if she knows where his eyes keep going she isn’t saying anything.  “Double dare you.”_

_Steve makes sure his face is wearing its sternest expression when he says no again._

_She’s nothing if not persistent, and so Darcy jabs her finger at him once more.  “Triple dog dare you.”_

_Before he can think and she can protest Steve grabs her hand and yanks her forward, practically sending her into his lap.  If he had thought about what he’s doing maybe Steve would have backed off a bit, but backing down from a challenge isn’t exactly his style.  Of course, this is why he also got beat up so many times before the Army, but that’s not important right now.  His eyes are locked on Darcy’s as he pulls her finger into his mouth, scooping up the frosting with one swipe of his tongue and then swirling it around the tip a few times to be sure to remove every last trace of frosting._

_Steve can’t quite describe the look that’s on Darcy’s face, he’s always been better at sketching out his impressions.  Her brow’s wrinkled, that’s for sure, but there’s something far different from puzzlement in the way her mouth falls open at what he does._

_What Steve does know is there’s no going back now._

“Holy fuck,” Darcy groans as she wakes up.  She scrubs her hands over her face, trying to clear up the lingering fogginess from sleep.  She tells herself that it’s the sudden, abrupt waking from a deep, REM state that’s causing her to feel all addle brained.

            Yes.  That’s all it is.

            She dozes off for a few brief moments (it’s still far too early to be awake, even if she does have a job to go to later), trying to blot the images from the dream out of her mind at least for a little while.  Still, when Darcy opens her eyes once more she discovers that she’s been carefully tracing along her collarbone, back and forth, with the very same finger that was in Steve’s mouth just moments before.

            Darcy just winces and rolls over, burying her face in the pillow.  The last thing she needs right now is some inopportune crush.  Appreciating things from an aesthetic, artistic viewpoint, sure.  But it’s not worth getting all twisted up for someone who is nowhere near ready for a modern relationship.

            ‘Oh, darling,’ her inner voice replies, sounding suspiciously like Peggy Carter, ‘I think it’s a little late for that.’

            Darcy picks up the pillow and buries her head under it, like it has the power to stop the lunacy and block out the voices only she can hear.

            ‘And don’t discount Steve’s interest either,’ the Peggy-like voice continues despite the fact that Darcy is trying her hardest to blot out everything.  ‘He isn’t always the most demonstrative of men.  You may be surprised if you just pay attention.’

            Darcy just kicks the covers off, and rolls out of bed.  “Shower time,” she says to the empty room, snatching up her bathrobe.  “Cold shower time.”

            Still, when she sees the earrings that Jess left on the coffee table in a tangle of old necklaces and bracelets as she runs around like a madwoman trying to get ready for work, the little evil streak in Darcy rears its head once more.  She slides the little studs that look like tiny frosted cupcakes into her ears as she runs out the door, having a silent argument with herself all the while that it would be easiest just to put the dream off to the side and not think about it again.  There’s a bit of a payoff, however, when she bumps into Steve on the subway platform heading into work. 

            “Nice earrings,” Steve says, looking away quickly enough that she can easily see the edges of his ears going red.

            “Thanks.”


	8. Girando e Girando, Cascando e Cascando

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One wild day of dreams, brought on by the fear of lost memories and a week of sleepless nights. Brace yourselves, it's going to be a bumpy ride...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this one took ages to complete! Although it’s my own fault, I was distracted by ‘Things That Friends Do’ and then the Christmas Exchange fic (and I still owe a ton of you feedback on your exchange pieces…yikes I am behind on everything). But now we’re back in the swing of things, and here’s an extra-long chapter to make up for it.
> 
> My thanks to Lady Chi for the advance read and look over, and to the cheerleading crew from Tumblr (and anyone who wants to visit my tumblr are more than welcome: aenariasbookshelf.tumblr.com) for the pom-poms and the support no matter how crazy my stories drive me.
> 
> Okay, on with the show…

            There’s one glorious, shining night in early spring.  Steve was invited to an informal party of on the roof of the art studio and there’s good people, good food, interesting music, and through the gaps between the nearby buildings one hell of a view of the Manhattan skyline.  It’s not quite the skyline he knew back in the day, but there’s still something recognizable in the way the buildings, all aglow, reach up for the dark sky above.  While he’s friendly with everyone he’s introduced to he spends most of his time glued to Darcy’s side.  She’s bubbly and giddy and more than a little drunk by the time the party’s done but smiling, always smiling.  Steve doesn’t head home until the sun’s starting to peek over the tops of the buildings, having spent an unusually fun night in the presence of a girl he maybe-kinda-sorta likes (he’s determined not to think about it just yet).

            It’s not until he’s back in his apartment that Steve realizes he hasn’t thought about the past all night.  The people, the faces that he lost and left behind hadn’t occurred to him once in the middle of all the buzz around him.

            And when that realization hits him, Steve doesn’t sleep for a week.  Instead, he spends his time sketching for hours on end, trying to capture everything in his memories before it slips away.  When his legs stiffen from sitting still for so long he heads out to the gym to pound the heavy bags and his emotions into submission.  When the gym owner gets sick of seeing his face there he takes the bag home with him to beat until it breaks, then sketches some more until his fingers bleed.

                                                *                      *                      *

            It’s a particularly foul mood Darcy finds herself in when she wakes up that morning.  It’s a weekday, she doesn’t have to be at a job, and her latest paycheck should be hitting her account any minute now, so there’s no reason for her to be so grouchy.  Yet she finds herself awake at the ass crack of dawn (six a.m. to be precise), feeling like an eighteen wheeler ran over her in the middle of the night.  She tosses and turns for a bit, thinking that maybe she’ll be able to slip back to sleep, but that’s not happening.  Which means it’s coffee time instead.

            Darcy practically falls out of bed, stumbling her way into the kitchen and thank god it’s a short walk.  There are people in there already, which isn’t all that unusual given that some of the roomies keep normal, respectable hours.  However, the way the three of them are clustered around the windows overlooking the alley is a bit odd.

            “What’s going on?” Darcy asks, fumbling her way over to the coffee maker.  Cinnamon today, she thinks offhandedly as she gets a sniff of the brew.

            “Watching the gun show,” Jess says.  Her voice has a tone to it that’s usually reserved for ‘This movie may suck but damn that guy is hot which is the only reason I’m watching it,’ moments.  Darcy frowns and makes her way over to the group, holding onto her coffee mug like it’s got the water of life inside there.  When she gets a glimpse of the sight outside the windows she resists the urge to groan, and it’s not a good groan.

            Steve is clearly visible through the window of his living room, pounding the certifiable crap out of a punching bag hanging from the ceiling.  Darcy can only see part of his face in profile, but even from this distance she can see his eyes are hard and his jaw’s clenched, like he’s about to grind his teeth to powder.  “How long as this been going on?” she asks.

            Mina, the girlfriend in the boyfriend/girlfriend duo it’s sometimes hard to tell apart, shrugs and leans on the windowsill.  “Couple of hours, maybe.  I came up from the studio at four and he was already there.”

            Darcy groans out loud this time and scrubs a hand over her face.  There’s a part of her that wants to believe that Steve’s just trying to get some exercise in, but deep down she knows that’s not really the case.  Steve’s been off and barely communicative the entire week, straddling the edge of something manic that he hasn’t managed to escape.  Usually his dreams give her some sort of a clue as to what’s floating through his head (he may not like it but it’s a lot harder to hide when you’re not in total control of what your head is saying) but she hasn’t had the opportunity to peek in for a while.  Then it hits her that the lack of dreams may simply be because he hasn’t been sleeping, and was there a chance that his sleeplessness is related to hers?  Nothing is out of the realm of possibility these days.

            “I should ask him for workout tips,” Barrett comments offhandedly, shoveling cold Chinese food from the night before into his mouth.  Breakfast of champions for the broke twenty-something, even though Darcy wouldn’t say no to it herself.

            “I think he’d be more inclined to bench press you,” Mina says, slouching down further against the windowsill.  She looks like she’s been up all night too, Darcy thinks, taking in the dark circles under her eyes and the grime under her fingernails.  Unlike Steve she’s got an air of satisfaction about her, like she accomplished or completed whatever she’d stayed awake for.

            “Nah, he’s too nice for that,” Jess breaks in.

            Darcy nods in agreement.  “You want tips he’d be happy to give them to you, though there’d probably be a lot of boxing involved.”

            “Your boyfriend’s got some impressive biceps,” Mina comments, turning her eyes to Darcy, who very deliberately does not meet her look.

            “He’s not my boyfriend.”

            Jess and Barrett just scoff at that, Jess tossing in an eye roll for good measure.

            Mina turns back out the window, running a hand through her short, dark hair which has pretty obviously been enhanced by a box of bluish-black hair dye.  “Huh.”

            “What?”

            “I couldn’t place it the other night at the party, but it finally occurred to me who Steve reminds me of.”

            Darcy’s sure her stomach hits the floor at that one.  While the identity of the man behind the shield has been kept classified for decades (gotta keep that symbol alive, after all) there’s always the fear that someone could compare jawlines, tooth shape, something that would connect the dots and give it away.  Although really, it would be just a matter of someone finding eerie similarities in the faces of a man who died in WWII and some young man on the street in the 21st century.  But she’s pretty damn sure S.H.I.E.L.D.’s not letting Steve Rogers’ identity out of the bag anytime soon.  Still, if turns out that her roommate is the one who blows the secret of the century, Darcy’s fairly certain she’s going to run off to the nearest iceberg and bury herself in there for the next seventy years.  “Who?” she can’t help but ask.

            “Johnny Storm,” Mina says, nodding firmly and decisively.  “He’s like a clean cut, more built version of Johnny Storm.”

            Before a much relieved Darcy can even open her mouth to respond to this baffling statement a litany of curses and other foul language spills out of Jess.  The other three watch in disturbed awe as the diatribe goes on, Jess barely stopping between statements disparaging the character of Mr. Storm.  “So I take it you know the guy?” Barrett asks, shoehorning the words in the brief gap when she takes a breath.

            Jess snorts, knocking back a slug of coffee and hissing through her teeth when it’s too hot for her tongue to take.  “I spend all of my days and many of my nights herding around young models fresh off the turnip truck from West Buttfuck, Ohio.  Yeah, I’ve run into that flaming Typhoid Mary of STDs.”

            “Aren’t you from West Buttfuck, Ohio too?” Darcy points out with a shrewd glance.

            “Yes, but that’s not the point.”

            “Then what is the point?” Barrett asks.

            “The point is I protect my girls.  I’m not letting that waste of charbroiled flesh fuck it up for them.”

            Darcy just shakes her head and turns back to the window once more.  Steve obviously doesn’t have any idea he’s got an audience the way he keeps pounding away at the bag.  Suddenly she gets the odd mental image of Captain America versus the Human Torch and has to blink rapidly to clear the sight out of her mind.  “I’m pretty sure out of the two of them Steve’s the good twin,” she says.

            Of course, Steve has to pick that moment, like he has any control over what his unknown audience thinks, to deal the bag a spectacularly heavy blow.  The bag, having had enough of it all, rockets back on its hook and splits at the seams, spilling sand out onto the floor.  Steve just stands there, panting, staring at the new mess before him.  “Violent, yet impressive,” Mina comments, earning an askance, suspicious look from Barrett.

            Darcy groans under her breath again, getting the strong feeling that when the punching bags start flying it’s never a good sign.  “It’s too early for this shit,” she says, closing her eyes in defeat.  “I’m going back to sleep.”  Hopefully, she mentally tacks on.

            Sleep doesn’t really happen.  Darcy shuts her eyes and lies in her bed, yes, but her brain is restless, turning things over and over until it’s a spinning mess.  Her limbs feel twitchy, like they should have a go at Steve’s punching bag to siphon off some excess energy.  Maybe that’s part of it, Darcy thinks as she buries her face in the pillow to block out the sun coming in through the skylight.  That because of the strange connection between them Steve’s sleeplessness spreads like a virus, bleeding over into her consciousness and leading to days of restlessness.

            Damn magic.

            She wishes Thor was around to answer her questions, being the only person who’s got even the remotest connection to magic that she knows.  But there’s also the memory of something of something Jane had said, that Asgard’s science was so advanced from theirs that it looked like magic to the untrained eye, and she can’t think of any earthly science that allows for two people to slide into each other’s dreams like they do.  It may happen in the movies, but not in real life and definitely not in her rather standard existence.  Hell, if she wasn’t experiencing it first-hand she’d have a hard time lending credence to it.  Maybe.  She’s been more open-minded to the possibilities of the weird since New Mexico.

            The phone’s in her hand to call Jane before she even realizes it, but Darcy forces herself to put the phone down.  Jane would start probing, she knows, and would ask questions that aren’t hers to answer.  They’re Steve’s secrets to tell, and she’s going to honor that.

            But that doesn’t mean that she can’t pester him to get some rest.  Maybe if he sleeps she will too.  A week of restless nights and no beauty sleep makes for one pissed off and exasperated Darcy.

            As her body feels ready and willing to explore this new development Darcy hauls herself out of bed and searches around for the nearest clean clothing.

                                                *                      *                      *

            Steve doesn’t say anything when he opens the door to his place, just steps aside and lets Darcy come in.  While Steve looks a bit rough, breathing hard from exertion and sweat beading his brow, the sight of one of the walls in the main room is what really gives her pause.  Lined up in precise, neat rows are a series of black and grey sketches.  The subject matter varies, people, places, objects that Darcy doesn’t recognize.  They’re drawn with care, however, fine lines and shading combining to let the exquisitely crafted details shine through.  “New art project?” she asks, spinning on her toes to face Steve who is standing by the slowly twisting punching bag.

            Steve just shrugs, shoving his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants and looking more like an awkward little boy rather than a fully grown man.  “Just couldn’t sleep,” he says.  He recoils pretty quickly at the sudden stink eye Darcy gives him.

            “Yeah.  Speaking of, when was the last time you got a decent night’s sleep?”

            Steve’s arms cross over his chest and he gives her a suspicious look right back.  “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

            “You know, getting defensive like that usually means you’re hiding something.”

            “Has anyone ever told you that you can be incredibly nosy?”

            Darcy snorts.  “It’s a gift.  And you’re evading the question.”

            “You won’t leave me alone until you have an answer, won’t you?”

            “Nope.”

            “Fine.  Last night,” Steve fires back, an eyebrow arched high as if daring her to question him.

            And dare she does.  “Yeah, that’s bullshit and we both know it.”  But then she slumps, the fight in her taking a back seat to exhaustion, and she moves over to sit down on the couch.  “Because for some strange, screwed up, magic reason, I have the sneaking suspicion that your sleepless nights are the reason why I haven’t slept properly in days, and if this connection has gone haywire to the point where insomnia becomes a new way of life for us something’s got to give.  Most likely my sanity at this point, but I’m here in the hopes of finding a way of avoiding that.”

            Steve reaches out and with one finger sets the punching bag spinning.  “I don’t sleep a lot in general,” he says in a low voice, not meeting her eyes. 

            (And sometimes it’s not worth it to even try, he thinks, remembering dark nights when it’s just him and his memories.  At least on those nights he can remember in horrifying detail just what he’s left behind.)

            “But not like this, not to the point where both of us are maybe one strong breeze from being knocked over with exhaustion.  Well, me at least.  You just kind of look a bit shitty with those under eye circles you’ve got going on there.”  Darcy wraps her arms around herself like she’s trying to get warm, trying to keep all of herself inside where it’s safe.  She’d like to look strong, but at least here and now she doesn’t have to which is a nice change from the usual.  “You’re resisting the urge to go look in the mirror, aren’t you?” she says as Steve’s hand hastily drops back to his side from where it was feeling around his face.

            “So what’s our play?” Steve asks.  “How do we handle this so that we can get some sleep?”  He doesn’t deny it anymore, she notes.  And he also doesn’t suggest automatically severing the connection anymore, which is a huge leap of faith for him in her eyes.

            “Aren’t you supposed to be the man with a plan?” Darcy says, forcing back the yawn.

            “A good strategist uses all available resources.”  He waves a hand in her direction.

            Darcy just sighs and falls over on the couch.  “How to cure insomnia in the 21st century,” she mutters, nearly to herself.  Steve moves to sit down on a nearby chair, removing a stack of charcoal sketches before and setting them carefully on the coffee table.  The top drawing looks like it could be Peggy Carter, or at least resembles the one that Darcy had seen in the dreams.  The sketch’s face is lost in shadow though, clouds of dark and smoke obscuring her features.  “If it were up to me I’d get myself profoundly drunk until I pass out from alcohol poisoning.  I’ll be hungover as fuck, but I’ll be a well-rested hungover.”

            “I wish,” Steve says, dashing a hand back through his sweaty hair.  “I can’t get drunk.”

            “You can’t have a thing against booze; I’ve seen you drink before,” Darcy says from her prone position.

            He shakes his head, and Darcy can easily make out the wistfulness in his eyes.  “I have no problem with a good, stiff drink, but because of the serum my body metabolizes the alcohol before I can be affected by it.  And so I can’t get drunk.”

            She props herself up on an elbow, staring incredulously at him.  “Shit,” she breathes.

            “That is a pretty accurate way to describe it.”

            “So I’m guessing sleeping pills won’t work either?  Or elephant tranquilizers?”  The question’s more rhetorical than anything else; Darcy knows full well that she’d never be able to get her hands on something that could outstrip Steve’s accelerated metabolism.  “This may take me some time,” she says, aiming the words towards the ceiling and then looking over at Steve.  He’s slumped back in his chair, eyes bright with that sort of glaze she recognizes from pulling all-nighters back in college and with Jane on science benders out in the New Mexico desert.  “Would you be okay if I took another day to see what I can come up with?” she asks.

            Steve shrugs, looking in her direction but not quite meeting her eyes.  “I just took a sixty-seven year nap.  Staying awake for another twenty-four hours is easy.”  His eyes trail over to the punching back.  “I think I can find something to do in the meantime.”

            “Yeah, well, if you do you might wanna pull the blinds beforehand.  My roommates were enjoying the show this morning.”

            Steve just rubs a tired hand over his eyes.

                                                *                      *                      *

            There are all sorts of cures for sleepless nights, Darcy discovers as she hunts around online for information.  Her usual cure insomnia cure is to putz around on Facebook or Tumblr (as much as she hails the merits of alcohol to fix sleeplessness it’s really more of a band-aid that’s best saved for certain situations only), but she’s got the feeling that’s the last thing Steve wants to hear.  So instead she searches, stretching the limits of her Google-fu.

            She resorts to more holistic measures, teas designed to soothe the mind and aromatic oils for calmness.  They may not work as efficiently with his metabolism, but if she can convince him they’re effective maybe the psychology of it all will kick him and send him to sleep.

            That afternoon, when Steve leaves behind the punching bag and turns back to his sketchbooks, Darcy runs around the city attempting to put together all of the supplies she thinks might help.  At a small shop in a deep corner of the Village she picks up lavender oil for relaxation, one that can be used on the skin without irritating it.  The woman behind the counter also recommends incense that utilizes sage and chamomile and is designed to induce sweet dreams.  This pushes the boundaries of believability a bit, but then she remembers why exactly she’s shopping for these items in the first place and accepts the offering with a nod and a thank you.

            Darcy attempts to get a little bit – the merest hint – of sleep the next night but every time she closes her eyes images of pain, of being frightened, of the things that lurk in the dark slide through.  They whirl around her eyes and settle in her brain and eventually it becomes safer just to stay awake rather than deal with the nightmares.  When she hauls herself out of bed to go get some water from the kitchen she sees that Steve’s lights are blazing across the way and he’s going fast and hard at the punching bag again.  “Told him to close the blinds,” she mutters.  He’s got to be feeling it by now too, she thinks, able to watch more carefully now that she’s not got the audience of her roommates watching her reactions to him as well.

            “How long has this been going on?” a voice says softly behind her.  Still, Darcy startles a bit, the glass slipping in her hand before her fingers tighten their grip.  She spins around to see Barrett there, dressed in his baking whites and looking far too awake for o-dark-thirty in the morning.

            “What?”

            “How long has he been back?” Barrett asks, waving a hand at the window.  “I saw stuff like this when my brother got back from Afghanistan.”

            Darcy just nods, her mind finally catching up and flicking over into cover story mode.  “A few months,” she says.  Moments later she asks, “Does it get any better?”

            “If they want to get better, it does.  I think, at least.  My brother worked hard to get back to okay but he got there with time,” Barrett says, joining her in watching the sight in the windows across the way.

            “And what do you do if they don’t want to get better?”

            Barrett doesn’t have an answer for that.  He doesn’t need to answer; Darcy’s mind can come up with all sorts of horror stories that could play out of Steve loses himself too badly.  Maybe that isn’t his normal style, but all bets are off now that he’s woken up to a whole new world.

            “God, I need sleep,” Darcy whines, bashing her head against the window frame.

            She spends the rest of the night setting up her room, shoving the unnecessary crap under her bed, changing the sheets, draping a scarf over her floor lamp to create the proper ambiance for sleep, setting up an incense burner (a.k.a. dirt from the rooftop planters in an old mason jar), and setting out the other accoutrements for her plan to succeed.  Hopefully.  Hell, she’d settle for four hours of uninterrupted rest at this point.

            The sun comes up, Darcy’s roommates shuffle off to their various jobs and studios, and finally she’s left all alone in her apartment.  With any luck they’ll be so deeply asleep by the time it’s all over that it won’t matter if a herd of wildebeest come tromping through the place, let alone her roomies and all of the chaos they can bring with them.

            Finally, when it’s time, Darcy picks up her phone and dials Steve’s number.  “That’s twenty-four hours,” she says without preamble.  “Get your ass over here, Rogers.”

                                                *                      *                      *

            “Drink this,” Darcy says, shoving a mugful of steaming liquid into Steve’s hands as soon as they step into her bedroom.

            “What is it?”

            “Sleepytime tea.”

            Steve’s look is dubious, to say the least.  The look gets sort of lost, however, because of the purplish shadows beneath his eyes and the slumping line of his shoulders.  “Really?”

            “Dude, you can get it in any supermarket.  It’s pretty much harmless.”  She holds up her own mug in a toast and sips, tasting mint and something slightly flowery on her tongue.  Not her favorite of the teas but her mother’s always forced about a gallon of this stuff down her kids’ throats when they were sick so there has to be something to it.  “It’s supposed to relax you,” Darcy continues, pushing Steve in the direction of the bed with her free hand.

            “Has that been proven?”  Steve gingerly sits on the edge of the bed, toeing his shoes off and resting his back against the wall.  She sees him shiver slightly, the spring breeze from the open skylight catching him in just the wrong way.

            “I know people who swear by it,” she says, dropping to the bed next to him.  “But who knows?”  Darcy shrugs, looking down at the swirling, pale gold liquid in her mug.  “This is all experimental guesswork here.  I’m hoping everything together works.”

            Steve nods once, then knocks back the rest of his tea with a slight grimace.  Darcy wonders how he hasn’t burned his mouth yet, but writes it off as yet another aspect of the wonder serum.  He nods again, puts the mug down on her already crowded nightstand, and says, “Who am I to stand in the way of scientific experimentation?”  The body that looks like it could have been sculpted out of marble certainly vouches for that.

            “Good to know,” Darcy says, not looking at him.  “Now take your shirt off.”  She says the last part quickly, like ripping off a bandage.

            Steve doesn’t say anything, but the look he shoots her puts her in mind of a startled animal and, well, that just won’t do.  Okay, maybe she is over stepping her boundaries a bit, but they’ve never had a traditional relationship, not by any definition of the word.  ‘Especially not after the cupcake thing.’

            ‘Oh, shut up, you.’

            But there’s the constant feeling that whatever their relationship is – whatever they are to each other – is still unsettled, unfinished.  And it’s right there, just beyond her fingertips but she can’t reach it just yet.  ‘Yes, but you’re hearing hooves and thinking of zebras instead of horses.’

            ‘How about an eight-legged horse?’ Darcy fires at the voice in her head, full of spite she doesn’t really feel.

            ‘Stop being snide and solve the insomnia issue first.  Then after you’ve got a good night’s sleep you can dive into the issue of whatever’s going on between you and Steve.’

            Darcy elbows him in the side, smirking just a little bit.  His reaction’s not unexpected.  “It’s for a back massage.  I promise I won’t go below the waist.  And it’s not like I haven’t seen it before, unless you somehow changed the way you looked in that dream?”

            ‘Oh, god, shut up before you make him spontaneously combust,’ Darcy yells at herself, snapping her mouth shut.  It doesn’t work, and she continues with: “And between the sketching and the boxing your shoulders are probably really racked up by now.”

            She shoves the rim of the mug between her teeth and bites down onto it to stop the babble.  Steve crosses his arms over his chest, almost hunching over like he’s trying to make himself small enough to hide.  Darcy looks over at him once more.  “I repeat my question about wondering how the hell you put up with me,” she mumbles around the lip of the mug.

            Steve shakes his head, almost smiling now (or grimacing, she can’t really tell).  “It’s a, uh, an unusual request.  Usually when a dame offers to give you a rubdown…”  He trails off, and Darcy can feel her cheeks start to burn, realizing that she just may have really stepped in it this time.

            ‘Not that it’s a hardship to give him a rubdown.’

            ‘Will you shut the fuck up?’

            “It really is for relaxation.  They used to offer them when I was in college around midterms and finals.”  And after that incident when the campus got wrecked by a giant green monster and the military, but that’s probably not a story she should tell if she’s trying to dispel the nightmares.  “But I can vouch from experience that it does work.”

            Steve nods again, looking down at his hands splayed out across his thighs.  “If it’s going to keep me from thinking for a little while I suppose it can’t hurt.”

            “You don’t sound convinced.”

            Steve shifts on the bed, his movements slightly jerky due to what Darcy suspects (but can’t be certain) is nerves.  “What other choice is there if it’s something that will help?”

            “There’s always a choice, Steve.”

            “And if this is going to ensure that both of us get the first full night’s sleep we’ve had in how long?  Then it’s worth the chance.”  He straightens up, that determination surging to the forefront.  Stubborn boy, Darcy thinks with a sudden wave of fondness.

            “All right,” she says.  “Shirt off, and lie down on your front.”

            While he follows her orders, Darcy gets the rest of her supposed together, turning down the lamps so that the only light is what trickles in through the skylight, lighting the incense for atmosphere and hoping like hell it doesn’t make her sneeze, and tossing the lavender massage oil onto the bed next to Steve’s prone figure.  Darcy sets herself on the edge of the bed and looks at the broad expanse of back before her.

            It’s a fascinating sight, she thinks, her eyes tracing over the lines of his muscles.  Even at rest they look like they’re ready to spring into action at any moment, coiled and tense as they lie in wait.  His skin’s still winter pale where the shirt covered him up, but this doesn’t detract from the impression of strength held within his body.  The skin is flawless, no pockmarks or scars, and the only things that dare mar the surface are a few scattered birthmarks here and there.  And while that skin looks smooth and untouched, she wonders if the reality will be different.

            Darcy inhales sharply, centering herself to the scents of whatever herbs are in the incense mixture.  ‘Focus,’ she thinks.  ‘This was your half-assed plan; you have to make good on it.’

            She drizzles the lavender oil on his back, watches him flinch as it hits his skin.  Steve flinches again when her hands land on his shoulder blades, the muscles all tense and bunched.  “Steve, relax.  None of this will do any good if you don’t stop being so tensed up.”

            “I’m trying.”  His voice is muffled by the pillow his face is buried in, but she can still hear how damned weary he sounds.

            “This is supposed to be fun,” she says, poking him in one of his slicked up scapula.

            “It’s not bad,” Steve concedes, back shifting slightly under her hands.

            “We’ll get you there eventually,” Darcy says, her voice smoothing and fading out as she loses herself in the rhythm of her hands on his skin.

                                                *                      *                      *

            _Steve bangs against the ice with his palms, feeling the slick walls freeze his hands until they’re stiff and painful.  He’s boxed within the glass-like walls, unable to stand up, even though there’s some room to work with if he stays on his knees.  It’s bright and pale and cold and Steve’s not having any of it._

_Through the thick layer of ice he can see Darcy, her face looking splintered and shattered thanks to the waves of the ice wall.  She’s banging on her side as well, attempting and failing to make any cracks at all in the icy chamber.  Steve can’t hear a damned thing (it’s dead silent in this place save for the scraping of his shoes on the ground) but it’s all too clear to see her face contorted in a rictus of anger, screaming in his direction._

_Steve shifts and kicks out, boots making a loud clatter against the solid wall.  He kicks even harder when he sees the blue ice begin to creep over Darcy’s hands, stiffening them in place and practically sealing them to the wall.  But the ice starts to overtake him too, flooding and forming around his foot everywhere it impacts with the wall, then splintering into sharp slivers when he jerks it back._

_By the time Steve discovers the ice has taken over his hands, turning them into immobile crystal, it’s already too late._

                                                *                      *                      *

Steve wakes with a start, gasping sharply into the pillow below his head.  He feels like his blood is pounding through his veins, but his limbs are weighted and stiff, barely able to move them.  His head’s cloudy and fuzzy as if it’s still asleep instead of functioning like it should.  The air smells of lavender and smoke, and there’s a weight on his back.  The weight shifts and falls to the side, wedging itself between his body and the wall.  Steve turns his head (and doesn’t that practically take all of his energy considering it feels like it’s stuffed with solid lead ingots) and sees Darcy there.  One arm’s stretched out above her head and her glasses are knocked askew, but she’s fast asleep.

            “Darcy,” he whispers, trying to get her attention.  Something feels off, mental alarm bells ringing loudly, and all of a sudden Steve’s too weak to do anything about it.  Hell, he can’t even lift his hand to poke her in the side and hope she wakes up.  “Darcy!” he hisses again.

            Darcy wrinkles her nose and snuffles once before letting out a slight moan.  Her eyes crack open, and Steve can see the puzzlement there; she doesn’t have any idea what just happened either.  But her eyes flutter shut once more and Steve finds himself following her right back into sleep.

                                                *                      *                      *

            _These claws look good on her hands.  Ivory colored and bone-hard, they come to stiletto sharp points on the ends of Darcy’s fingers.  She looks down at them, sees the faintest trace of blood under one of the points.  Then she looks up at Steve, eyes like flinty sparks in the bare bulb that swings overhead, providing the only spot of illumination in this black room._

_Steve just stares back, still as a stone statue.  He crouches there on the ground like a runner, balanced on his own long-tipped claws ready to leap up and attack at any moment.  A thin trickle of blood drips down his cheek and settles into the corner of his mouth, staining his lip a vibrant crimson.  There’s a matching slash across her stomach, blood turning her light t-shirt an odd purplish-red around the edges of the subsequent hole._

_But right now she doesn’t really give a fuck about the shirt._

_She’s spoiling for a fight and that’s the only thing that’s going to satisfy._

_Darcy leaps straight for Steve, foot hitting the ground first as her arm stretches forth to take a swipe at his jaw.  He’s too fast for her though (always has been), and he quickly rolls to the side, coming back around with a lunge for her leg.  Darcy leaps, stumbles back, and licks her lips.  Now things are really going to get interesting._

_The hand to hand combat is intense, exchanging blow for blow as bruises blossom on skin and blood oozes from finely drawn slashes.  They tumble over and around each other, Darcy clawing at Steve’s back while he knocks he wind out of her with swift, firm jabs to her ribcage.  They could keep going for hours if given the chance.  But something, at some point, will inevitably give._

_That something turns out to be Darcy, who lets her guard slip for the merest of moments before the world turns itself upside down.  When things right themselves again she’s pressed fully up against Steve, her back to his front with his hand wrapped around her throat.  He tilts her head up, squeezing just enough to make her gasp as his claws scratch the delicate skin there.  He’s hard behind her, in more ways than one, and while she shouldn’t be so turned on by this she knows for damn sure it’s not fear that’s making her heart race._

_Steve tightens his fingers almost imperceptibly, but no way is she going to give in, not just yet.  His thumb glides back and forth against her collarbone, leaving behind more thin cuts and a jewel-like line of blood.  He leans down, breath hot on her skin, and whispers, “Did you really think you could get away that easily?” as his sharp teeth scrape against the outer shell of her ear._

                                                *                      *                      *

When Darcy wakes up her hand is already around her throat, trying to see if there’s really blood there or if she imagined it all.  Everything’s still so fuzzy that she can’t tell (and it’s not just because her glasses got smudged when she fell asleep with them on) which way is up, let alone if her neck’s got a giant gash in it.

            She jerks, just slightly, when Steve’s hand comes up to cover hers and pull it away from her neck.  Darcy watches his eyes, which look just as blue and fuzzy as her head feels, as his fingers prod around the base of her neck, trying to find a gash she’s sure is there.

            But instead Steve nods once, solemnly, eyes falling shut as he does, and Darcy now knows her throat is fine, unmarked and unbroken.  Then his closed eyes go tight with some unknown feeling or image, his brow wrinkling as if he’s in pain.  He’s sound asleep once more, however, which is all sorts of weird that it happened so quickly.

            Darcy grasps his hand tightly, holding it to her chest as she follows him back into sleep.

                                                *                      *                      *

            _It’s his old body from before the serum, dressed in clothes from this new century of his, and Steve’s standing in a Times Square that vacillates between the two.  Billboards from the thirties flash over into ones that he’d noticed barely a week prior and there’s a flood of humanity rushing past and flowing around him.  They’re moving so fast they’re blurry, but he can see the occasional swish of a coat, the flash of a sneaker, the brim of a hat that differentiates who is who.  It’s a frenzied whirlwind, and if he’s not careful he’s certain he’ll start spinning and never stop._

_Darcy’s barely a foot in front of him, head tilted back so she can see the skies above them.  Her hands are tucked up inside the sleeves of her sweater, and she looks small and lost, kind of how he feels at the moment, too.  The flashing lights and signs reflect off of her glasses, partly obscuring her wide eyes._

_Her mouth drops open and she tugs at the hem of his shirt, pulling him even closer.  Steve follows her gaze upwards, discovering why she suddenly looks either awestruck or dumbfounded, he can’t decide which.  The low hanging clouds above are boiling and roiling like soup in a pot but a hell of a lot more lethal.  The city lights illuminate odd lumps and waves here and there as they shift and morph.  There’s the unsettling feeling that what they’re looking at isn’t just clouds but rather a living creature, ready and waiting to strike._

_Not taking his eyes off the clouds, Steve reaches out and wraps a skinny arm around Darcy’s waist, pulling her close.  The instinct to protect her is strong, even if he can’t do anywhere near as much with this old body of his.  “Storm’s coming,” he says, as if speaking the words aloud is enough to keep the incoming tempest at bay._

                                                *                      *                      *

They barely wake up this time, still half-lost in their dream world.  They rouse just enough to work the comforter out from beneath Steve’s broad frame and burrow deep inside it.  There really is a spring storm coming outside, wind whistling through the skylight’s screen and dripping down the glass.

Steve and Darcy huddle under the comforter, sound asleep and nearly dead to the world, and the only thing visible is one light head and one dark head sharing a pillow.

                                                *                      *                      *

            _The next dream makes even less sense than any of the previous ones.  But then again dreams don’t have to make sense, nor do they have to be remembered with any degree of clarity._

_This is one of those times._

                                                *                      *                      *

Darcy shifts in her sleep, curling into Steve’s bare chest.  Even now she can feel that he’s burning warm under the covers and it’s just the thing to shake the chill that’s settling into her bones.  It should be the other way around, she brings the electricity and he brings the ice, but right now she just wants to feel warm again.

                                                *                      *                      *

            _Steve’s lips are blue.  They’re almost the same shade as the uniform that covers his body, which is ripped and torn through his trials.  Darcy attempts to lift him onto her lap, to get his body off of this icy floor, but he’s so heavy she has to wonder if he’s made of the same stone the walls and ceiling of this nightmarish chamber are.  He’s still enough to pass as a statue, which makes her painfully nervous.  She manages to settle his head in her lap.  It’s not much, but it’s the least she can do._

_“How’s he doing?” Peggy asks, executing a near perfect baseball slide on her knees and coming to a stop right next to them.  It’s probably made easier by the contemporary jeans and boots she’s wearing, but Darcy’s learned not to question it anymore._

_“He’s so cold,” Darcy whispers, voice quavering as she looks down at Steve’s stone-still face.  She runs the back of her fingers over his cheek, trying in vain to ease the chill that’s settled over his skin._

_Peggy leans down and presses her bright red lips to his forehead, withdrawing with a worried look in her eyes.  The wind whips by outside, shaking this old castle so hard mortar spills from between the stones, falling like snow onto the ground.  “He’ll wake up when it’s time,” she says, but Darcy’s not sure who she’s trying to reassure.  There’s the sneaking suspicion that underneath the frozen exterior Steve is wide awake and listening to every word they’re saying._

_“What’ll we do until then?” Darcy hears herself saying.  The words feel like they’re coming from a ways away, however, as if she’s just the mouthpiece for a pre-written script._

_Peggy pulls a gun from the back of her waistband, an ugly looking creation that gleams with every crack of lighting outside the walls.  “We keep him safe,” she replies, checking the functions of the weapon and how many bullets are left inside it._

_Darcy glances at the ceiling of the room, deep gashes in the stone revealing the raging sky above that’s being split and split again by lightning, thunder, and other unnamed things screaming out in the darkness.  “How the hell am I supposed to do that?”  The world’s falling apart at the seams, and all she’s got it as weak-ass Taser and an unconscious super soldier._

_This time when Peggy leans forward it’s to kiss Darcy.  “You’ll know what to do,” she says when she pulls away.  Peggy executes a complicated maneuver, a combination of a spin, a twist, and a leap as she vanishes into the wild night._

_“Please be okay,” Darcy whispers, turning her gaze back to Steve and stroking his cheek once more._

_When the thunder’s at its loudest and the lightning’s at its brightest Steve’s eyes burst open, glowing blue even in the dim light._

                                                *                      *                      *

This time Steve’s arm slips around Darcy’s waist and pulls her close.  There’s barely room for the two of them on the mattress, but the way they’re curled up it’s impossible to tell where one body ends and the other begins.  It’s just one singular form there, sleeping soundly as the storm rages on outside.

                                                *                      *                      *

            _Shit.  Steve recognizes this scene and it’s not one that he has ever wanted to see again.  His nightmares have a habit of not listening to what he wants, however, and roughly scrubbing at his eyes does absolutely nothing to make the interior of the Valkyrie fade out of existence.  That metal grating is all too familiar, and it’s easy to hear the wind whistling past outside as the plane hurtles into the unknown.  He looks down at himself, spotting the battle uniform and noticing the weight of his helmet on his head.  The weight of the shield feels light in his hand, as if it’s flimsy and hardly defensive._

_He looks down and finds Darcy standing next to him, leaning awkwardly against one of the metal struts.  She’s got a hand pressed against her side, where there’s a nasty looking burn mark in the coat that looks an awful lot like the ones his Commandos used to wear.  She looks pale and pained, but determined to keep going, he can tell.  All Steve knows is that he has to find a way to get out of here before history repeats itself and they go down with the ship._

_“Come on,” he says, slinging the shield over his back and pulling Darcy along.  They get across the grating as quickly as her injury will allow, although adrenaline does help give them an extra burst of speed._

_“Where are we doing?” Darcy asks, pulling her coat tightly around her as if it’s capable of fixing her side by virtue of pressure alone._

_“The cockpit, I think.”  Steve leads her down a dim walkway that winds off into the distance so far he’s not even sure they’re still in the plane.  The space below the walkway seems to extend right into space itself, their footsteps echoing with metal clangs as they walk._

_And then…then the world seems to tip on its side, the sudden change in position making Steve’s head spin.  He can hear Darcy scream next to him, but it sounds distant, hollow.  She’s grabbing at his belt, the scrabbling of her fingers on leather sounding loud even within the mad confines of the plane.  One arm goes around her to bring her close, while the other arm grabs the shield and puts it between Darcy and the rest of the world, trying to keep her sheltered._

_But they’re not falling.  Steve’s not sure if they’re even actually moving.  The world is though, and their feet aren’t on the ground anymore.  They just float there while the plane spins ever faster, the air briefly lightening before everything fades to deep black._

                                                *                      *                      *

They lie there on Darcy’s narrow bed, two still figures that can’t look away from the seething maelstrom up above.  It’s like the storm outside has come inside the bedroom, and the greyish-greenish clouds gather along the high ceiling, seeping into corners and trailing down towards them like reaching, spindly hands.  Darcy, feeling dazed and languid, pulls a hand out from under the cover and reaches her whole body upwards, like if she stretches enough she may be able to meet them halfway.  Her body feels strange though, she thinks, like she’s not got the strength to make it, let alone stay upright.  Her arm drops down and takes the rest of her body with it, landing against Steve’s side.  She uses what’s left of her strength to curl into him, trying to find the warmth in his body and failing at it.

            _“I don’t know if we’re awake or asleep anymore,”_ Darcy says, her words muffled from where her mouth is partly pressed up against Steve’s chest.  She forgets for a minute that his chest is bare, but the feel of his oddly cool skin beneath her lips brings that rushing back to her.

            She feels his arm shift beneath her as it moves to awkwardly drape over her back, his large hand coming to rest on the curve of her hip.  _“I don’t know either,”_ Steve says, eyes trained on the ceiling.  He holds up his own hand in the air, staring hard at it against the stormy backdrop.  _“Huh,”_ he says, like he can’t quite comprehend what he’s seeing.

            Somewhere Darcy finds the strength to grab his wrist.  She doesn’t pull it down, though, but instead feels around the tendons and veins, desperately searching for something.  _“I can’t feel your pulse,”_ she says, the worry growing inside her.  It’s awkward, but she manages to bring her other arm up to her neck and she pokes around her neck, the hollow between her clavicles.  _“I can’t feel my pulse,”_ she whimpers, the panic rushing forth. 

            _“Hey.  Hey, hey,”_ Steve says, the gentle words doing nothing to calm down the hyperventilating.  Then she feels his arms go around, pulling her on top of his body.  He still feels cold below her, but at least she’s not alone, and the comforter around her waist provides marginal warmth.  To her immense surprise, Steve buries his face in her neck, nuzzling right at the hinge of her jaw.  Cold lips press against her skin, making Darcy’s eyes fall shut as her head tilts to the side.  One particular move of his mouth makes her dig her nails into his shoulders, digging in firmly like it’s the only thing keeping her anchored to the ground.  _“See, there,”_ Steve says, mouth still up against her skin, _“there’s your pulse.  You’re all right.  You’re alive.”_

            _“Still alive,”_ Darcy mumbles, twisting and shifting so she can look down at Steve.  Their faces are close, too close, and she’s suddenly aware of the feel of his body under hers.  _‘Just a dream,’_ she thinks suddenly.  Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to…satisfy a longstanding curiosity.

            So she leans in close, taking in his pale face and his drowsy eyes, easily visible even in what little light seeps in through the storm clouds above.  _“Tell me to stop,”_ Darcy whispers breathlessly, her lips just barely brushing against his.

            Steve doesn’t move, and there’s the unmistakable feeling of having fucked up something precious that settles over her.  But then…then one of his hands moves to the back of her neck, gripping tightly, and pulls her mouth the rest of the way to his.

                                                *                      *                      *

            The door to her bedroom opens, which makes Darcy sit up like she’s been hit with an electric shock, the comforter falling down around her waist in folds of fabric.  Jess pokes her head in, concern written clear on her face.  “Just checking to make sure you two are still alive,” she says, her voice sounding far too loud in the darkened bedroom.  “It’s almost seven; you’ve been sleeping all day.”

            “What?”  Darcy runs a hand back through sleep-tousled hair.  She feels Steve shift in the bed next to her, and she’s certain he’s awake now too.

            “Barrett poked his head in when he got home from work and saw you two were pretty much dead to the world,” Jess continues.  “That was five hours ago.  And it’d be a pain in the ass to have to call the cops and an ambulance because you wouldn’t wake up.”

            Steve pushes himself upright, though he’s listing to one side, leaning heavily on one arm, and his hair’s practically standing on end.  “Sorry for the trouble,” he says.

            Jess waves a dismissive hand.  “Don’t worry about it.  You both looked like the walking dead; the sleep was probably necessary.”  She gestures with her head somewhere down the hall.  “In any case, Barrett’s cooked dinner and it smells pretty edible for once.  Come on out and eat when you’re ready.”  With that she leaves them be, the open door spilling yellowish light into the bedroom.

            Darcy glances warily over at Steve.  She knows there are things they probably need to talk about from the dreams, but the images are still swirling about in her head, not making much sense just yet.  Clarity will come with time, but right now she feels too sleep-stupid to figure out just what needs to be said.  Steve looks just as dopey as she feels right then, but there’s the brief passing thought that he looks good in her small bed, like he belongs there every day all tousled and shirtless.  He shakes his head quickly, like he’s trying to clear the fog from his brain.

            The spell that’s settled over the room is quickly broken by the sound of Steve’s stomach suddenly growling, which makes Darcy bite back a giggle.  The sheepish look on his face makes her smile, though.  “I could eat too,” she says, pushing the covers back all the way and crawling over his legs to reach the floor.  She grabs Steve’s shirt and tosses it to him, slightly ruing the fact that such a work of art needs to be covered up.  Of course, there’s a part of her that doesn’t want to share that sight with the world, so it’s bit of a toss-up.

            Once Steve is dressed again they stumble out into the hall, following the food smells into the living room where various pots and bowls and a couple of bottles of wine are spread across the coffee table.  Jess all but shoves them down onto the couch, and Barrett quickly sets them up with plates loaded with food that looks surprisingly good for one of his culinary experiments.  Steve looks over at Darcy, shrugging his shoulders with a small smile.  “Here’s to new experiences,” he says.

            “Amen to that,” Darcy replies, nodding in agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title translates as: Turning and turning, falling and falling. From Isabella, by the Mediaeval Baebes.


	9. Come Crashing In, Into My Little World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As much as dreams are supposed to be private, when you share your dreams with another person some hidden sights and feelings become exposed anyway. Then the question becomes – where do you go from there? Steve and Darcy will figure it out…eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has it really been four months since I’ve updated this story? Damn…I apologize for the long wait! Hopefully this chapter will be worth the delay in it, however. Please note the change in rating due to the dream in this chapter. It’s not as graphic as other stories I’ve done, but it’s definitely a step up compared to the rest of this story. Also, if you notice, I’ve finally updated the chapter count on the story – and yes, we’re pretty much in the homestretch here. After this chapter there’s only two more to go before wrapping up this story and moving on to the next one in the series, which will cover the events of the Avengers movie (which, admittedly, I can’t wait to get to).
> 
> Thanks to the usual suspects – Meri, Jade, Rainne, Katy, and many others – for all of the encouragement and help getting this chapter off the ground…or just listening to me whine. That goes a long way for us writers too.
> 
> Hmm, I don’t think there’s anything else to say at this point, except that I hope you enjoy, and if you have any questions or comments, you can hit me up on my tumblr at aenariasbookshelf.tumblr.com. Thanks for reading!

Come Crashing In, Into My Little World

-          _Enjoy the Silence_ , Depeche Mode

 

_Darcy is infinitely glad that some dreams are still private.  
_

_The thought’s a fleeting one as she tips her head back, feeling the man’s mouth make its way down her neck. God, it’s been so long, she thinks as the man moves even lower, hands skating under her loose shirt as he mouths at her stomach. The hands trail down, sliding her panties off and casually tossing them away. Darcy runs her hands through his blond hair, pressing him close as he makes himself at home between her legs._

_She forcibly ignores the fact that she recognizes that exact shade of blond hair, knows the feel of those hands from how they once tended to her busted ankle, even that pattern of birthmarks on his bare shoulder. No. That would be too much._

_Right now she’s focusing on pure sensation. And when he finally closes his mouth around her, tongue worrying at her sensitized skin, Darcy slumps back against the couch, not caring about anything else at all. She drapes her legs over his shoulders, digging her heels into his back to keep him as close as possible. He’s got quite the talented tongue._

_But then there’s a shift. Darcy isn’t quite sure how she can tell, but she knows it’s there. Maybe it’s the atmosphere getting a little thicker, the air feeling heavier as it settles on her skin. Or it could be the small echoes of sound off in the distance of the dream, breaking through the calmness. She’s stopped trying to make sense or physics apply to this whole dreamscape thing, and just accepts that suddenly, somehow, there is a change in the dream._

_She forces heavy eyelids open, weighed down with the feelings_ _centered_ _right between her legs and sending shudders throughout her body. When she finally focuses in on what she’s seeing, Darcy’s breath catches in her throat. She thought she was breathless before, frankly, but now? It’s like she can barely take in any air at all._

_It’s not even that interesting a sight, she thinks muzzily. Though really, she might be lying to herself._

_Steve’s standing there - and it’s the real Steve, not whatever dream knockoff her brain has concocted - leaning against the doorway of the room, not quite close enough to touch but certainly near enough to get a good look at him. The room she’s in is a sparse, echoing chamber with story high windows lining the walls and not much else...she doesn’t know why she’s noticing it now, of all moments. Steve’s got_ _pajama_ _pants and a t-shirt on, and he’s standing stock still, arms folded over his chest._

_And he’s staring right at her._

_Her hand clenches in the man’s hair, and Darcy wishes more than anything that she could wake up. There have always been certain boundaries between them, as tenuous as they are these days, but something like this will probably tear the barriers straight to the ground. And even though the other man’s still between her legs, making her shake, moan, and sigh with his mouth and fingers, she can’t pull her eyes away from the look on Steve’s face._

_His arms are crossed over his chest, and his lean against the doorframe is casual. But Steve’s whole body seems wound up, like it’s getting primed for movement. Darcy’s not sure if it’s real or just her imagination acting up, but she swears that there’s a slight flush high on his cheekbones as well. Darcy watches as his throat moves, swallowing convulsively; she sees how his eyes rake over her body. She doesn’t even think he can see anything clearly between her shirt and the guy in front of her, but she can only imagine that his mind can easily fill in the blanks._

_The man’s fingers twist inside her, and she releases a gasp that sounds like a cry in the stillness. And yet, she can’t take her eyes off Steve and how he stares at her, eyes dark in the cold light that pours in through the high windows. She sees Steve subtly lick his lips, and Darcy grips at the dream man’s hair even tighter, pulling him as close to her as she possibly can._

_When she finally comes with a sharp, broken scream, her eyes are still firmly locked on Steve’s._

_**********_

Steve’s eyes snap open, wide awake, only to find his face is buried in his pillow and his hips are pressing into the mattress in an unconscious attempt to relieve the sudden pressure in his groin. He stifles a moan and pushes his face into the pillow, trying to erase the images from his brain.

It’s not working.

He flips over onto his back, untangling his arms from the blanket which feels like it’s suffocatingly warm at the moment. Steve digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, like maybe the weight will flip the off switch on the dream scenes that are running on repeat in his head.

But all he can see is the way Darcy’s head tipped back, lolling about on the couch as her body arched up to meet the touch of the man she was dreaming about (the man who looked all too much like him, but he doesn’t - can’t - let himself think about that). The thoughts make him grow harder in his pajama pants, and Steve blows out a rough breath, trying to calm down the pounding in his blood. The memory of Darcy coming hard against the man’s mouth, pale legs draped over his shoulders, surges to the forefront of his mind. Steve moans through gritted teeth, wrapping his arms tight across his stomach.

Oh, to hell with it.

Steve slides his hand under the waistband of his pants, taking himself in hand. His skin feels tight, burning hot, but the weight of his dick in his hand feels good, feels right. He runs a thumb over the head, feeling the already leaking precome and then spreading it out over his foreskin. And for a little while he lets himself get lost in the images, letting them play out behind his eyes as he feels prickles of sweat break out on his forehead.

It doesn’t take long at all before he’s coming with a bitten off groan, spilling all over his hand and bare stomach. Steve waits until his breathing calms down a bit and his blood stops thundering through his veins before pulling his t-shirt off and using it to attempt to wipe away some of the mess. It's not quite successful, so he heads towards the bathroom to clean up further.

The images aren't quite as prominent as before, he finds as he washes his hands. But there's none of that lingering fuzziness there that's usually associated with the dreams, no haziness that blends into the morning light that's coming in through the frosted glass bathroom window. It's all too easy to remember the way Darcy moved in the dream, the arches and lines of her body as it draped over the couch.

Maybe he'll sketch her just like that, on a piece of paper that no one will ever see but him, and stash it away so he doesn't have those pictures in his brain all of the time. Steve shakes his head, his lips twisted up in a fair mockery of a grin. Yeah, he isn't going to be forgetting that sight anytime soon.

On his way back to the bedroom he spots his cell phone - the one that SHIELD had given to him because everyone has one these days and no one ever leaves the house without it any more (though, admittedly, Steve's spends more time collecting dust rather than actually being used) - vibrating with a loud clatter on the wooden desk. He heads over to it, sees the little alert that a text message has arrived, and pulls the message up. It's from Darcy, and Steve's not sure whether he wants to blush badly or smirk at the message she sent.

'So, I'm gonna go off and die of embarrassment now, or maybe throw myself into that glacier they dug you out of.'

The words shake something loose in his chest, like it's unfurling those last bits of tangled nervousness that are lingering inside him. And it reminds him that, whatever happens, they're both in this thing together. Even if they're not quite sure what _this_ is.

Steve picks up the cell phone and dials Darcy as he sits down on the couch. It rings quite a few times, more than he's used to hearing from her phone, and wonders briefly if she's still asleep despite the sun streaming in through the windows. That or she's just ignoring him, which is also likely given the impending awkwardness of the call.

"Don't you know that the whole point of texting is so that you don't have to call a person?" Darcy says in lieu of a traditional greeting. Her voice sounds a little faded, blurry, and he realizes she'd probably only woken up a few minutes before.

"I'm sorry?"

"Don't play innocent with me, Steve. Just let me go and have an embarrassment related breakdown in peace," Darcy sighs, and Steve can all too easily imagine the frustrated look on her face.

"You know, you were the one who contacted me first," Steve says, resting back against the couch.

She scoffs, rather loudly. "So not the point."

"Uh-huh."

There's a small silence there that stretches for a few moments, but it's not as uncomfortable as Steve thought it would have been. "What is it you told me once?" he eventually says. "That we can't control what we dream about?"

"I did say that, didn't I?"

"Yeah. So if I shouldn't feel bad about what I was dreaming, you shouldn't either."

Darcy makes a noise that sounds almost wounded through the tinny speakers of the cell phone. "I don't feel… it's just… some dreams are meant to be private, you know, not seen ever by anyone else - and when they're not? Totally awkward and TMI." She sighs again, and Steve imagines she's rubbing the bridge of her nose right where her glasses land (she does that when she's frustrated or tired, he's noticed).

It's on the tip of Steve's tongue to ask her to clarify, if she's more rattled by being caught dreaming about having sex, or that the person she was dreaming about having sex with looked startlingly like him. But he bites the question back, staying silent about it. He tells himself it's to spare her the embarrassment of answering said question, but frankly, he's not even sure he's ready to hear the answer either. Instead, he asks, "TMI?"

"Too much information."

"Ah."

There's a clattering on the other end of the phone, and then Steve hears the muffled sounds of two people talking. He can't make out any words, however. "Sorry about that," Darcy says when she comes back. "My sister was sent to drag my sorry ass out of bed."

Steve frowns. "She was sent all the way to your apartment?"

"Ha, no. It's Grandpa's birthday this weekend, which is why I am in New Jersey and being - ugh - woken up at 7 a.m. for breakfast. And there's no way in hell my parents are letting my fourteen year old sister venture out to the city all by herself."

"They really wouldn't want to hear what I was doing in New York at fourteen then," Steve says, rolling with the sudden twist in conversation and feeling more than a bit grateful that the awkward topic has passed.

"Probably not," Darcy laughs. "You'd probably scare the pants off of them and then my sister will be locked in her bedroom until she's thirty."

"We can't have that."

"No."

"Go eat breakfast," Steve says, shaking his head even though he knows she can't see it. "I'll see you when you get back?" He doesn't like that it sounds like it's a question rather than a statement, but it's too late to take back the words now.

"Definitely. I'll be back before you know it." There's another pounding noise Steve hears over the phone, quickly followed by Darcy yelling, "All right, Hallie, I'm coming!" She sighs, heavily, and says, "And that's my cue. So I'll see you on Monday, okay Steve?"

"Sounds good," he says. Once she hangs up Steve puts the cell phone carefully down on the coffee table and scrubs his hands back through his hair. Maybe he'll go for a run, he thinks. Clear out the brain a bit and get some clarity.

Or just pound some pavement and not think at all. Right now, that sounds perfectly good to him.

**********

Darcy sits at the table in the middle of her parents’ bustling kitchen, filled to the brim with chaos even at that early hour. Grandma’s by the stove cooking up something, while Grandpa’s across the table pointing at something in the paper and waving an angry hand at her dad while telling him to come take a look. Mom’s hunched over a super-sized mug of coffee, looking about as awake as Darcy feels at that moment, and her little sister Hallie’s next to her, nose buried in her phone and fingers flying rapidly over the screen.

Her brain processes this information in simplistic terms, however, only registering enough to give the impression that she’s not falling asleep at the breakfast table. But really, Darcy’s mind is still stuck back in the dream, and that expression on Steve’s face, and that way that he was looking at her, like…

Shit. In her entire life she’s never had any guy look at her like that before, and how the hell is she supposed to deal with that?

Maybe it’s nothing, she tells herself. Maybe it’s just the reaction that any guy would have when presented with a pornographic performance right in front of them. They’re bound to be turned on, right? And for all of the nobility placed on the legend of Captain America, Darcy knows that the guy behind the mask is nothing more than that - just a normal guy, exactly like the rest of them.

Except none of the rest of them stared at her like she, she… like she was a puzzle, or a mystery that he just wants figure out and learn all of the little details of. And it’s mutual, Darcy thinks, because all she wants to do is discover more and more about the man behind the legend, what goes through his mind waking up decades in the future, what his hopes and dreams were for after the war, what he really thinks of the current state of New York City, hell, even whether he prefers guacamole or sour cream on his tacos.

What he tastes like when she nibbles at the juncture where jaw meets neck.

These are not the thoughts of ‘just friends,’ Darcy admits to herself. She’s suspected this for a while, but this is the first time she’s had the courage to actually say it, even if it is in the safety of her own head.

It scares and thrills her, all at the same time.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Darcy mutters under her breath, fingers clenching tightly around her coffee mug - the one with the pale green rim and her name spelled out on it that she’s had since she was ten and has a small chip in the handle from years upon years of use.

The muttered words catch Hallie’s attention, who looks up at Darcy with a suspect gleam in her eyes and her brows arching upwards.

Darcy just shakes her head. “Never mind,” she says, tucking the thoughts away for when she’s actually got time to really think about them, and in a place that’s not in full view of her entire family. Instead, she reaches out and pulls a bagel from the paper bag in the middle of the table, tucking into her breakfast like her world hasn’t suddenly experienced a seismic shift.


	10. It’s Always Darkest Before the Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the future is...rather odd, but Steve’s finding that there might just be a place for him there anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Rainne and Meri for hand-holding, sympathetic ears, and being patient enough to listen to a lot of whining when the chapter was giving me grief. You ladies are awesome. :)

I Like to Keep My Issues Strong, but It’s Always Darkest Before the Dawn

\- Shake it Out, Florence and the Machine

 

**********  
  


The internet is one of the best things about the future, Steve thinks.  A wealth of information, from almost anywhere in the world, and it’s right at his fingertips thanks to a few clicks of a keyboard.  Sometimes the information isn’t what he wants to see, but the world’s never been an easy place to live in.

 

He’d set out that morning to see if the cemetery where his parents are buried is still in existence.  He’s 99.9% sure it is, it was a landmark even back in the 40s, but the urge to make sure that their final resting place hasn’t been disturbed in the nearly seventy years he’s been away needs to be verified before he dares to venture out there.  Steve’s not sure if he could handle it if he were to go to the cemetery only to find that it’s now a vacant lot or brand new apartment buildings.

 

So much of Brooklyn is barely recognizable from before, and more than once Steve wonders if this isn’t some dying fever dream of his.  But his dreams are even stranger than that, he knows.

 

Welcome to reality.

 

To Steve's relief, he finds that the cemetery is still well maintained and in use, the century old graves sitting alongside new mausoleums.  There's even a section on the website where he can put in the name and dates of the deceased to find the exact location of their gravesite.  It's not like he'd ever forget where his parents are buried, that'd be impossible no matter how far he travels, but he likes the verification that what he remembers still exists.

 

And sure enough, there are the names of Sarah and Joseph Rogers, in small, neat, typeface on the screen: birth dates, death dates, and where they're located in that sprawling, hillside complex.

 

He’s been putting this trip off long enough, Steve thinks.

 

It’s early morning when he hops on the subway and makes his way south towards the cemetery.  A couple of quick stops later - one to pick up a bouquet of flowers and another at the main cemetery office to get a map of the grounds - he finds himself hiking up a lush, green hillside to his parents’ gravesites.

 

The graves are set back against a line of trees, leafy overhangs providing pleasant shade over them in the spring sunshine.  Steve remembers the trees being smaller when his parents were buried, but even they didn’t stop growing while he was asleep.  They’re simple graves, one a grey stone slab with no extra ornamentation whatsoever and the other the traditional white (since faded to a dusty washed out color) tile that marks his father as a veteran.  But they’re still next to each other, and Steve’s glad to see that even now his parents’ wishes are being carried out.

 

The weeds are slightly overgrown around the bases, and Steve carefully pulls them out of the way as he kneels down in front of them.  “Hi, Ma.  Hi, Da,” he says, placing the bouquet down between the two graves.  “I’m sorry I didn’t visit sooner.  Been away for a while.”  His lips curve, though he isn’t remotely smiling.  “Never thought you’d see me here, huh?”

 

It’s quiet enough on the grounds that Steve can tell there’s nobody near him.  The only sounds that carry in his direction are the buzz of the lawn mower from the groundskeeper on another slope off in the distance.  So he launches into his story, telling his parents just what he’s been up to for the last few years...last seventy years, really.

 

**********

 

Steve walks home from the cemetery, feeling emotionally wrung out.  It’s not an uncommon feeling for him these days, but the long walk helps to clear his head out a bit, or at least distract him enough from everything that’s whirling around in his head.

 

He walks a lot these days.

 

He wanders down to the Brooklyn Bridge, and stops for a few minutes to sketch the cables, stones, and pylons that make up the structure in the small moleskine notebook he always carries in his pocket.  Architectural drawings have always been some of his favorites, seeing the straight lines turn into shapes and patterns with simple movements of his pencil.  Didn’t have to worry about getting the colors right with them either, though Steve knows that’s not an issue anymore.

 

But it’s a warm day out - almost too warm for this time of year.  This causes the tourists to come out in droves, crossing over the bridge’s footpath like ants swarming a piece of bread.  It’s a little too much humanity for him at the moment, and he determines it’s time to leave the bridge behind.  So Steve slings his jacket over his shoulder and heads back to his apartment.  It’s a quick walk, and he’s done it often enough by now that his feet lead him right where he needs to go without too much input from his brain.

 

When he passes by the alley next to his building, he sees Barrett running out of there like a bat out of hell, dressed in a crisp white shirt and black trousers.  Barrett nods in his direction as he stops and almost trips off the curb, looking up and down the street.  “Going anywhere interesting?” Steve asks, hauling him back onto the sidewalk with a hand on his collar.

 

“I wish,” he grumbles, shoving his hair out of his eyes.  “Catering job.  I get to dish out food to rich people all night.  Just what I love to do.”

 

“It’s a paying job, though.  And it can’t be that terrible if you’re actually doing it,” Steve points out.

 

“Fair point.”  A total junker of a car pulls up to the curb, stopping in front of them with a slight squeaking sound.  Steve couldn’t say at all what model or make it is, but the dents and rust spots on the outside are apparent.  “And that’s my ride,” Barrett says, though it’s more of a foregone conclusion at this point.  “I’ll see you around, Steve.”

 

“See ya.”  He watches the car pull away from the curb, clanking noises following in its wake.  Steve stands there for another moment, trying to make his feet move and head into his building.  The main door’s only a few yards away; his stride is long enough that it’d only take him seconds to get there.  But his body seems to have other ideas.   

 

Instead, Steve turns down the alley and heads towards the little side door that’s never locked to head up to Darcy’s place.  A few flights up and there’s another door with an extremely out of date Christmas wreath still hung up on it, and this one he knocks on.  “It’s open!” someone calls out from inside, and he rolls his eyes as he heads in towards the living room.

 

“You know, you should really keep that locked,” Steve says, spotting Jess hunched over and rummaging through a large box on the floor.

 

“Meh,” she says, waving a dismissive hand.

 

“Never fear, Brooklyn is here!” Darcy calls out, and he looks over to see her laid out on the couch.  She looks relaxed, but there’s a mug of coffee clutched in her hands, and Steve would bet good money that it’s not her first cup.

 

“What?”

 

“Never mind.”  She bends her legs up and waves at the other end of the couch, inviting him to take a seat.

 

“Didn’t you have work today?” Steve asks, draping his jacket over the back and settling down.  Even a super soldier’s feet get tired sometimes, and he really did quite a bit of walking since the morning.

 

Darcy nods.  “Half-day gig.  So now I get to spend the rest of the day being lazy.  That’s something I’m good at.”

 

It should be awkward, Steve thinks, since that eye-opening dream they’d shared.  That Darcy finds him attractive, in more than just an aesthetic appreciation sort of a way, that’s a true change in this new reality for him.  But within five minutes of seeing each other in person once Darcy had returned that weekend they were right back to normal again - well, as normal as their friendship has ever been.  Which isn’t that normal at all, at least, not by any traditional gauge.

 

Since that weekend, however, It’s a little easier for him to admit that he finds her attractive too in a not quite platonic way.  It’s not just a physical thing, though (although physically, Steve thinks Darcy’s got everything going for her and then some).  He just likes…well, her.  Her personality, her attitude, the brightness that provides a decent counterpoint to his darker days, even when she’s in a darker mood herself.  But it’s all about timing, this life, and there hasn’t been a chance to actually say anything about it to her.

 

If he says anything at all.  He’s still not sure on that point.  And while cowardly is something he’s never been, Steve knows he still has the deplorable tendency to end up chewing on shoe leather when he talks to a pretty dame.  And he can’t risk screwing this chance up...when he takes the chance.  If he takes the chance.  His brain can’t seem to make up its mind lately.

 

Darcy stretches her legs out, propping her feet on top of his knees.  It’s a small thing, hardly boundary pushing, and it’s all too easy for her to make herself comfortable.  Steve’s certainly not complaining about it.  He carefully touches a spot on her ankle, where there’s a cluster of light brown birthmarks like a constellation, and looks up to find her smiling softly at him.

 

“Yes!” Jess nearly shouts, and they look over to find her pulling a handful of fabric out of one of the bags scattered in front of the coffee table.

 

“Am I missing something?” Steve asks, turning his eyes back to Darcy as his brow wrinkles up.

 

Darcy snorts into her coffee mug.  “Jess raided a sample sale this morning.”

 

“And what’s a sample sale when it’s at home?”

 

“Lots of designer clothes for a fraction of the price,” Jess interjects, shaking out the camisole and holding it up to her chest.  “It’s all the stuff stores get sent so that they can decide whether or not they want to stock it, but it never makes it to the sales floor.  So a lot of times they’ll put on sales of all of the samples for their employees and others in the know.”

 

Darcy’s eyebrows arch over the top of her glasses.  “See what happens when you have a roommate who works in the fashion biz?”

 

“Hey.”  Jess tosses a bundle of gauzy white fabric at Darcy, and only the quick ducking of her head prevents it from landing in her coffee.  “You benefit from it too, so shut up and try on your new outfit.”

 

“If my lady demands it.”  Darcy swings her legs off of Steve’s lap, puts the coffee on the table, and rolls off the couch.  “Back in a sec.”

 

Once Darcy’s safely out of earshot, Jess turns to Steve, eyes wide and curly hair bobbing in the small ponytail she’s pulled it up in.  “You okay, man?” she asks.  “You’re looking a bit rough today.”

 

So much for being subtle, Steve thinks with a mental grimace.  “I’m okay,” he eventually says.  “Just having one of those days.”

 

“Happens to the best of us.”  Jess shrugs and returns to her rummaging.  “But hey, we’re pretty good at providing cheap distraction and entertainment over here.”

 

“I wouldn’t say you’re cheap,” Steve blurts out, then snaps his mouth shut, realizing how the words that slipped out of his mouth just sounded.  Jess looks up at him, eyebrows arched high and an amused smirk on her lips.  “You know what I mean,” Steve mumbles, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck that’s now burning bright.

 

Jess just rolls her eyes and wings another bunch of fabric at him, which he snatches out of the air one-handed.  “Try those on,” she says, or rather demands, pointing imperiously in his direction.

 

He untangles the pants, a heavy, dark denim with a slimmer cut than he usually wears.  They’re finely made, and nicer than most of the clothes he’s had throughout his entire life with the one exception being his old battle gear.  Thoroughly futuristic.  “Thank you, but I can’t accept this,” Steve says.

 

“Yes you can,” Jess says.  “I picked them up to bribe our trust fund baby of a landlord so that he’ll fix our bathroom sink, but I think you can use them more than he can.  Believe me, he’s got plenty of designer shit for an out of work artist.”

 

“It’s too much,” Steve insists, spreading the jeans out across his lap.  “And I’ve got more than enough clothes to wear.”

 

“Yeah?”  She sits back on the rug, a threadbare ornate sort of thing that doesn’t at all match with the rest of the decor, but somehow sort of fits the hodgepodge look of the living room.  “Tell me then, when was the last time someone gave you a present?”

 

The old compass suddenly comes to mind, given to him by Bucky after the Howling Commandos’ first mission with the cut out newspaper picture of Peggy inside the cover.  The one that had somehow survived the wreck of the Valkyrie and is currently sitting on a shelf in his apartment.  “It’s been a while,” he says, lips quirking up a bit at the corner.

 

Jess motions at him again.  “See?  Take the present and enjoy it.”

 

“Thanks.  That’s really kind of you.”

 

“My pleasure.”

 

Darcy practically saunters back into the room just then, the gauzy white dress swishing around her knees.  “What do you think?” she says, twirling in place on the rug.  “It’s a bit seventies, but I think it’s fun.”

 

“Looks good.”  Jess gets to her feet and tugs at the blousy, drapey bodice of the dress, straightening the fall of the top layer around her waistline.  “Could probably be taken in a bit at the waist, but otherwise it’s a good look for you.”

 

“You sure?” Darcy pushes some of her hair back out of her face, and sends a wary look downwards at herself.  “I feel a bit top heavy in it.  It’s not exactly hiding the girls, you know.”

 

Jess shrugs, plucking at the delicate straps on Darcy’s bare shoulders.  “Yeah, but it’s a summer dress, it’s not designed to hide things.  And it’s flowy enough on the bottom that it’ll counteract the top.”  Then, she spins Darcy around in Steve’s direction.  “What do you think?” she asks him.

 

Steve’s quiet for a few moments, trying to get his thoughts in line.  He’s never seen her in a dress quite like this one - some sleek skirt outfits that she’d wear to work, sure, and the simple shirt dress she’d worn in the dreams a couple of times, but nothing quite as...ephemeral as this one.  It’s almost like a nightgown, he thinks.  One that a woman would put on to sleep in during one of those steamy summer nights where she rolls around on the bed with sleeplessness due to the heat, the loose gown riding upwards with each movement.

 

“It’s different,” Steve blurts out, pushing his wandering thoughts way into the back of his head.  “But it looks good,” he finishes, nodding once as he crosses his arms over his chest.

 

Real smooth, Rogers.

 

“Thank you,” Darcy says, apparently ignoring the awkwardness and dropping a quick curtsey instead.  “Although not hesitating before you compliment a person would help you be a little more convincing.”

 

Steve just shoots her a glare, which seems to have the opposite effect than intended as both girls break out into giggles.  “Just sayin’,” Darcy says in between fits of laughter.  She leans against Jess’ side as she does, as if she needs the prompt just to stay upright.

 

“You’re hilarious.”

 

Jess straightens up, and waggles a finger in his direction.  “Hey, don’t you have something to go try on too?”

 

Shit, he’d forgotten about the pants.  “I can try them on at home later,” he says dismissively.

 

“Oh, hell no,” Darcy says, coming around to the couch again and dropping herself on the opposite end of it.  “If I had to give a fashion show then so do you.  Fair’s fair.”

 

“You know where the bathroom is; you can get changed in there.”  Steve is convinced that the grin on Jess’ face is one of pure evil as she looks at him.  “And don’t think I won’t lock you in there until you try on the pants.”

 

“I can break down the door.  A lock won’t stop me.”

 

All right, maybe he’s overreacting a little.  But just a little bit.

 

Darcy cocks her head to the side, giving him a look that he can’t quite decipher.  “Come on,” Darcy says, leaning forward to look him in the eyes.  It takes all of the determination Steve’s got to keep his eyes firmly above where the scoop neck of her dress dips down low, revealing an intriguing expanse of skin.  “What have you got to lose?”

 

Steve’s still for a minute, but then he sighs and stands up, draping the jeans over his shoulder.  “I’m going to regret this in a few minutes,” he says, heading off to the bathroom.

 

\----------

 

The pants are a bit on the snug side, tighter than he’s used to wearing his trousers, but the fabric is heavy and well constructed, and it doesn’t feel terrible against his skin.  Steve supposes he should get used to it, as he’s lost count of the amount of times he’s seen Darcy and Jess wear them, let alone everybody on the street every day.  Steve sighs, pushes his hair back with one hand, and tugs on the bottom of his button down, straightening the lines.

 

The jeans are, unfortunately, a little too snug to tuck his shirts in like he usually does.  Which apparently also happens a lot more in the 21st century, so at least he won’t look out of place.

 

Another deep breath and Steve exits the bathroom, making sure his feet don’t stop until he’s standing in the middle of the living room, arms held out under the girls’ critical gazes.

 

“It’s uh, it’s a good look for you,” Darcy says with a strange catch in her voice, leaning forward on the couch to get a better look.  Steve can’t quite think about what that means, however, as Jess is now heading over in his direction with a very intent look on her face.

 

“All right, let’s check these things out,” Jess says, pushing his arms out further so she can see the waist of the jeans.  She’s mercifully critical as she pokes and prods at how the pants fit on his body, and it reminds Steve more than a bit of when the USO had sent him out to Hollywood to film those awful movies.  He’s pretty sure his face is showing this distaste too, because the next time he glances over at Darcy her eyes are lit up and her hands are clapped over her mouth, like she needs the extra help in holding back the laughter.  Steve arches an eyebrow at her, which just makes her grip her hands tighter and bend over, shoulders shaking with repressed mirth.

 

When Darcy is coherent enough to finally pull her hands away from her mouth, she looks up and says, “Regretting it yet?”  A small smile dances around the corners of her lips.

 

Steve’s mouth is open to respond, when Jess tugs at the collar to his shirt.  “You got a t-shirt under there?” she asks, making Steve quickly lean away from the voice that’s suddenly in his ear.  

 

“Why?”  Of course he’s got an undershirt on, but that’s not really any of her business.

 

“Because the plaid shirt is doing you no favors.  It’s not even, like, cool retro 90s plaid, but old man plaid.”

 

“You really know how to make a guy feel good about himself, don’t you?” Steve fires back as he tugs at the t-shirt peeking out of the top of his collar.  Jess begins to reach for the rest of the buttons, but Steve brushes her hands away with another sigh and begins to undo the shirt.

 

“There’s no excuse for bad fashion.”

 

“Jess, be nice,” Darcy calls back at her.

 

Steve shucks the button down off and tosses it towards the empty seat on the couch.  “Happy now?” he asks.

 

“Much better.”  Jess takes two steps back, crossing her arms over her chest and giving him a critical look.  “Though the shirt could stand to be fitted a little more to better show off your physique.”

 

Steve just shakes his head and moves back over towards the couch, slumping down next to Darcy.  “I think the pants are enough change for one day.  How about let’s save the shirt for next week?”

 

“You sure?  I think I’ve got something else here that’ll look really nice with your skin tone.”

 

He’s not using Darcy as a human shield, really he’s not.  But if she can provide a little bit of a buffer zone between the mad fashion designer and himself, well, he’d be a poor tactician if he didn’t take advantage of that.

 

Luckily, it never quite gets that far.  A loud noise rings out from the kitchen, a snippet of a music that seems to be designed to be as absolutely obnoxious as possible.  It stops abruptly for a couple of seconds but then starts up again, even louder than before.  The music makes Jess’ face go still, and then morph into a look that can only be described as enraged.  “Even on my fucking day off,” she groans, then storms away into the kitchen to shut the ringing phone up.

 

Darcy turns to Steve then, eyes wide and slightly worried.  “Now’s the perfect opportunity to leave, if you wanna get out of here,” she says softly, even though there’s no way she’d be heard over the loud voice echoing out of the kitchen.

 

Steve exhales roughly, running a hand back through his hair.  “You know,” he says, eyes trained across the room but not really seeing anything, “I wouldn’t mind being around some people today.  At least for a little while.”

 

Her hand clamps down on his shoulder, small and warm through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, and squeezes tightly.  “Stay as long as you like.”

 

**********

 

_Out of the corner of his eye, Steve can see the sun coming up, turning all of the skyscrapers in front of him into gleaming gold and silver pillars.  The light catches on the cables of the bridges, the metal girders of the Manhattan to his right, and the old bricks of the Brooklyn on his left.  Unusually for New York, everything is quiet and serene.  No sounds of cars honking, shouting people, passing boats, or even the faint echoes of music off in the distance.  All he can hear is the soft lapping of the waves against the boulders of the sea wall he’s perched on, and the occasional call from a passing seagull._

_He can see Darcy swimming around in the shallows right beyond the rocks, diving in and out of the small waves as her white dress gets plastered to her body.  Her hair floats around her like seaweed as she flips to her back, eyes closed and face turned up towards the rising sun._

_Peaceful._

_Steve hasn’t felt like this for a long, long time.  It’s almost unfamiliar, but his body recognizes the sensations.  His muscles unwind, and he relaxes back against the rocks, taking in the Manhattan skyline once more._

_“Welcome home,” a familiar voice says next to him, and Steve looks to his left to see Bucky sitting there, smiling face looking out across the water as well.  He looks comfortable, relaxed, like the horrors of war can’t reach him here in this place._

_Steve shrugs, turning back to the skyscrapers across the river once more.  “It’s not quite home,” he says, even though he can’t quite help the smile that spreads across his face.  He tilts his chin at the buildings.  “I’m pretty sure a bunch of those weren’t there when we left the city.”_

_“Well, yeah,” Bucky agrees.  “It’s never going to be the same as it was.  That time’s over and done with, and now you’ve just gotta deal with it.”_

_“Click your heels and say ‘there’s no place like home,’ huh?”_

_“You know, you’d look fetching in a pair of ruby slippers.”_

_“Stuff it, you jerk.”_

_“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”_

_Bucky looks down at Darcy, swimming back and forth in front of the rocks at their feet.  She’d been a lifeguard as a teenager, Steve remembered her saying once, and even in dreams she still had her swimming skills, cutting through the water with easy efficiency.  “You settling in okay?” Bucky asks._

_Steve nods, stretching out his legs and propping his feet up on yet another boulder.  “As okay as I can, I guess.  The future’s not so bad, when I think about it.  Medicine’s a lot better - not that I really need it thanks to the serum.  There’s such a thing as vegan banana-nut muffins with maple almond butter which are surprisingly good.”  He tips his head back, seeing some thin, wispy clouds scudding across the sky.  “Internet.  Don’t even know where to begin to explain that one, but it’s incredible.  Might have even made a few friends, too.  I didn’t expect that.”_

_Darcy scrambles up onto the rocks, her white dress clinging to her body as water drips off of it.  She looks back at Steve, who arches his eyebrows questioningly at her.  “Come on!” she calls back.  “When the hell am I ever going to get a chance to do this again?”  Steve just shakes his head and waves a hand at her.  Darcy grins, then sets her stance, raises her arms, and executes a picture perfect dive off of the rocks.  She hits the water with hardly a splash, diving deep under the surface._

_Steve looks back at Bucky again, who shoots him an impish, shit-eating grin.  “Okay, punk - with all that you’ve got in the here and now, why the hell would you want to go back?”_

 

**********

 

Steve’s beginning to think that the only way people wake up these days is because of those damned tinny little beeps coming from their cellphones.  Hasn’t anyone heard of a proper alarm clock anymore?  Eyes still closed, he winces and presses his ear into the arm of the couch, trying to block out the sound.

 

The beeping doesn’t let up though, much to his displeasure.  But the crowning achievement is the sharp elbow that drives into his gut with more pressure than necessary, right before the beeping goes blessedly silent.  Steve forces his eyes open, confused for a moment before remembering where he is.  Right, he’s still at Darcy’s apartment - they’d watched movies on the couch well into the evening, silly films that didn’t require much thought to be enjoyed.  At some point food had been ordered in from somewhere, and the roommates had trickled back in the hopes of free food.  But then they were alone again, leaving Steve and Darcy on their own to watch movies late into the night.

 

Darcy had fallen asleep first, somewhere in the middle of a madcap scene involving speeding cars and possibly a musical number or two (all of the movies began to blend together after a while, he must admit), her head tipping over to rest on his shoulder.  It didn’t take long for Steve to follow her into sleep, feeling relaxed and mellow from an evening of doing pretty much nothing.  Somehow they must have gotten twisted around in the night, leading Steve to become Darcy’s body pillow.  At least, that’s what he supposes considering that it’s Darcy’s surprisingly bony elbow that’s currently jabbing into his gut as she reaches for the cell phone on the coffee table.

 

“Go back to sleep,” Steve mutters as his head rolls on the arm rest.

 

“Yeah,” Darcy replies.  “I just wanna check what the alert was first.”  He feels the couch shift again, and then Darcy settling back against him.  He really should move, he thinks, but frankly he’s too comfortable to really give a damn at the moment.  “Oh, great,” she groans.

 

That forces Steve’s eyes open, and he blearily focuses on Darcy, perched on the edge of the couch right by his hip.  The white sundress is long gone, traded out for a pair of yoga pants and a tank top.  Her cell phone is clutched in her hands, and the look she’s giving it is fierce.  “What is it?”

 

She rolls her eyes.  “Jess is in the middle of another fight in a club with Johnny Storm, and this time it’s made Google alerts.”  Darcy just shakes her head and slumps back over, burying her face in Steve’s shoulder.  “Whatever.  I don’t care.  Not worth waking up for.”  She stretches out along his side, and when Steve drops his arm around her shoulders it doesn’t at all feel like he’s taking liberties.  It feels entirely comfortable instead, and he easily slips back into sleep.

 

The next time Darcy’s phone goes off Steve can feel the vibrations of it against his chest, alien and strange, and it jerks him awake all too quickly.  “The hell?”

 

Darcy groans again and props the phone up, sliding a thumb across the screen.  A few seconds later her eyes bug out and her mouth drops open.  “Oh, shit.”

 

“What is it now?”

 

“Well…” she winces, staring hard at the little screen.  “I don’t think Jess is under arrest, but somehow a lot of them have been hauled to the cop shop - including Johnny - and money may need to change hands.  I think.  The text message loses some coherency towards the end there.”  Darcy pushes herself upright, rolling her shoulders with a grimace.  Then she looks down at Steve again, a suddenly thoughtful look on her face.  “Wanna go meet your evil twin?” she asks.

 

**********

 

It’s not until dawn that Darcy, Jess, and Steve are finally able to go home after a very, very long night, crammed into the back seat of a yellow cab as it hurtles over the Brooklyn Bridge.  Steve and Darcy are each slouched against a window, while Jess is sitting ramrod straight between them, anger and righteous fury being the only things that are keeping her upright at the moment.  For a while, the only sounds are from the driver’s radio station and the cars passing in the opposite direction.

 

Eventually, Steve can’t take the silence anymore, so he blurts out, “Well, that was interesting.”

  
Jess just moans, slumping over and burying her face in her hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: While I kept the cemetery Steve’s parents are buried in nameless here, my headcanon has them buried in Green-Wood cemetery, especially after the flashback scene in CA:TWS pretty much opened up the great possibility for it. This may not be the most historically accurate place for his parents’ to be buried, but as I love the visual of Steve walking through that specific place - and if you ever get a chance to go there in person I highly recommend it, even if it’s just for a short walk - I’m hand-waving it away.
> 
> Also, in regards to the sample sales - I used to work in the buying department of a now defunct department store (many, many moons ago...back in the time before iPhones…) and that’s pretty much exactly how we ran the sample sales there. Other stores and companies may run their sales differently, but in this instance it was a case of write what you know.
> 
> And now...one chapter to go. It’s a little nerve wracking, and not even written yet, but at least I know exactly where it’s going and what’s going to happen in there. And then, onto the next story in the series which deals with the events of The Avengers. So I’m gonna go over here and be nervous and bite my nails about that while you guys sit back and hopefully enjoy this chapter. Thanks for reading - and if you liked the chapter let me know! 
> 
> If you want, you can find updates and sneak previews of this and other stories on my tumblr at aenariasbookshelf.tumblr.com.


	11. I’m Waking Up, I Feel It In My Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Summary: The end. But every ending is a new beginning and while the future may not always be easy for Steve and Darcy, it’s guaranteed to be _interesting_. They can work with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure, this is another chapter that earns this story its ‘M’ rating. Many, many thanks to Meri, Katy, and Rainne for advance help and talking me through the crises. More notes at the end of the chapter.

I’m waking up, I feel it in my bones

Enough to make my systems blow

Welcome to the new age

\- Radioactive, Imagine Dragons

_Waking up inside of the dreams can happen any number of ways, Steve’s learned.  Sometimes they start at the beginning, like he’s watching a movie and just following the story like a good little observer.  Other times he’s slammed down right in the middle of the action and has to hit the ground running just to keep up with what’s going on, an active participant in this dream world._

 

_And then...then there’s dreams like this, the likes of which he’s certain he’s never experienced before.  At least, not with any degree of consciousness or clarity._

 

_There’s a body pressed up against his as he lies prone on his side, her bare back to his bare front.  One hand keeps skating down her stomach and up over her breasts, pulling her close with every pass, while his other arm cradles her head, fingertips stroking the soft skin on the side of her throat.  He buries his face in the mass of hair in front of him, watching as the dark waves shift and part over pale shoulders.  Steve’s mouth searches out the small tattoo on her nape, that twisting infinity sign, and he sucks gently at it.  This makes Darcy’s head roll back, nestling comfortably against his neck._

 

_Steve can feel her breathing, gasping little shudders that break the stillness of this hazy enclosure, gauzy white curtains surrounding a large bed making up the entirety of this little world.  Darcy’s leg bends and arches over his own, and he realizes he’s already inside her, achingly hard and deep.  “God, Steve,” she moans, reaching around to dig her nails into the curve of his ass._

 

_Her voice makes him pause, body going still behind and within hers.  No.  It’s too far._

 

_He moves to withdraw from her, to put some safe distance between them, but Darcy’s leg stiffens and her fingers lock tight around his hip, keeping him close and inside of her.  So he stills again, one hand falling heavy on her stomach.  She whines, a tight noise that vibrates in her throat as she tosses her head back.  Her hips flex, bringing him even deeper inside her, and Steve’s fingers jerk convulsively against her abdomen.  “Hey,” he says, pressing down firmly to try and get her to stop moving.  He’s got to stop this before it’s too late._

 

_But then Darcy turns, looking back over her shoulder at him.  Her eyes are sharp, bright, and above all_ clear. _She knows exactly what’s going on, Steve realizes, which makes something snap to attention inside him.  So he tips his head forward, just slightly, so he can whisper in her ear.  “Tell me to stop,” he breathes.  One last chance to go back._

 

_Her hand darts up to the back of his head, grasping the short hairs there hard enough to nearly make his eyes water.  “Don’t you fucking dare,” Darcy says._

 

_Steve surges forward and kisses her roughly, and her mouth immediately opens under his, firm lips meeting his eagerly.  Her hand slides out of his hair and tangles with his, pulling it up towards   her breasts and squeezing tight.  He thrusts inside her again, and she moans into his mouth.  Steve breaks the kiss with a rough gasp, and begins to mouth at the curve of her neck once more, tracing his tongue over the lines of her tattoo._

 

_Their clasped hands slide across the white sheets, and Darcy’s body moves right after, twisting so that she’s spread out on her stomach.  Steve follows, feeling the curves and planes of her body beneath as he drapes himself over her.  This angle’s even better, he realizes, as he starts moving inside her once more.  She cants her hips up, explicit permission for him to keep going._

 

_The movements of their bodies become a blur, just skin over, against, inside each other.  Their hands stay clenched together as Darcy arches underneath him.  She tosses her head back as Steve keeps moving, keeps going, determined to make both of them explode into sparks and starlight before long._

 

_There are noises outside the white curtains of the bed, eerily familiar sounds that make Steve shudder instinctively, body twitching with the unpleasant physical memories.  But Darcy’s breath is getting rougher in his ears, and she’s holding onto his hands even tighter.  It’s easy for Steve to ignore what’s happening outside then, especially when he’s got all of this right there with him._

 

_It could be mere seconds or hours later when he feels Darcy’s body begin to shake, her internal muscles clenching around him as the grip on his hands increases.  She gasps his name loudly, drowning out the other noises, and it’s all Steve can do to jerk against her once, twice, coming inside her as he muffles his own cries in her neck._

 

_Steve rolls off of her, flopping back into the pillows and breathing heavily like he’s just run thirty miles at top speed.  It should be weird, he thinks, that with one little dream they’ve blown all of their previously held (if tenuous) boundaries all to shit, but instead he just feels...relaxed.  His limbs are heavy, and his whole body’s tingling slightly, and it feels surprisingly good.  But still._

 

_Darcy rolls over, stretching her body alongside his and resting her head on his shoulder.  Steve tips his head down to look at her, sees her closed eyes and smudgy lashes dark against her skin.  “This changes everything,” he murmurs softly._

 

_“Hmm.”  She hums briefly, eyes still closed.  “It doesn’t have to,” Darcy eventually says, equally as quiet.  “‘S just a dream.  When we wake up, it can be like this never happened.”_

 

_Her words send an unpleasant shiver down his spine.  That thought of losing something he finally has that he never even knew he wanted before leaves him cold, and Steve realizes quickly that if he doesn’t say something, then this chance could pass him by._

 

_And suddenly, that’s the last thing he wants._

 

_“Is that what you want?” he asks.  “To go back to how things were before?”_

 

_Darcy’s eyes flutter open, deep blue and gleaming in the watery light.  She tilts her head to look up at him, chewing just slightly on her lower lip.  Her hand comes up, pressing lightly on his sternum.  “No,” she says.  “I don’t want to go back.”  Steve just nods at that.  “What about you?  What do you want?” she asks him._

 

_“I don’t want to go back either,” Steve says, the words coming out with a rush of breath.  His hand enfolds hers once more, squeezing lightly._

 

_The smile that spreads across Darcy’s face is slow, lips quirking up at the corners with just a little dip in the middle.  “Okay, so how about this - in the morning, when we’re both wide awake, we’re gonna go out for breakfast and talk about all of this.”_

 

_“It makes it real that way, doesn’t it?”_

 

_“Exactly.”_

 

_“Good.  But until then…”  Steve brings his free arm up around Darcy’s back and pulls her into an open-mouthed kiss.  She meets his mouth eagerly, leaning into him and stroking her hand up and down his stomach._

 

_They kiss for another length of immeasurable time, mouths coming together and splitting apart only to nibble and gasp and lick and sigh.  And while it’s not quite real, not just yet, it will be soon.  That makes all the difference._

 

_But then, then the sound of the explosions comes surging back, filling Steve’s ears with screams and cries, the noises of charging tanks and the sharp cracks of gunfire.  He pulls back from Darcy’s mouth with a sharp gasp, squeezing his eyes shut as if it can make the noises stop.  “What is it?” he hears Darcy say, only briefly drowning out the battle sounds._

 

_“You don’t hear that?” he hisses through clenched teeth, the noises getting louder and making it harder for him to concentrate.  “The explosions?  The guns?”  The sounds of all of the battles he fought back in the war that were still as close to him as if they’d happened only yesterday._

 

_“No.”  At the touch of her fingers on his face Steve pries his eyes open, seeing Darcy looking down at him with what could only be described as worry.  “There’s nothing there,” she says, stroking her thumbs along his cheekbones.  “It’s just you, me, and this really big bed.”_

 

_There’s another explosion in his ears, bringing up the memories of running away from torched Hydra bases.  He can almost feel the heat from the flames on his skin, and his body convulses painfully.  If he looks down at the sheets, he imagines that he’ll see them turning scorched and black, but when he flicks his eyes to the side they’re still pristine white and slightly rumpled.  “It’s all in your head,” Darcy says, trying to bring his attention back to her.  “It’s not real.”_

 

_“Feels damn real,” Steve mutters, squeezing his eyes closed once more even though it really doesn’t help at all._

 

_“Yeah, but it’s not.  So all you’ve got to do is wake up, Steve.”_

 

_It can’t be that easy, though.  It never is._

 

_Yes it is, Steve._

 

_His eyes open again, meeting Darcy’s and locking onto them, wide and clear and looking a lot stronger than he’s feeling at that moment._

 

_Wake up._

 

_**********_

 

The sound of bombs is still ringing in Steve’s head when he snaps awake.  His arms fall to his side, heavy on the mattress, as he works hard to get his breathing under control and his mind clear of the images flashing behind his eyelids.  The sounds of battle, gunfire and shouts, fire crackling through wooden buildings, innocent people crying and screaming, and whistling bombs dropping are all around him, and it takes a minute for him to convince himself that he’s in his bed, in Brooklyn, in the 21st century.

 

Sometimes his dreams tire him out, even when they begin pleasantly, and it’s much easier to focus on that aspect for the moment.  The way that Darcy’s body moved with his and how, even in the dream world where everything is sort of cloudy and not quite realistic, she was so responsive to his touch.  It’s more than that, though.  The knowledge that Darcy’s feeling the same things he is, that their relationship is far deeper than just friendship is so incredibly important.  

 

That even here, sixty-seven years in the future after almost certain death, he’s not alone.  And that Darcy’s thoughts in regards to him - to them - have been following the same paths as his own is a potent one.

 

Maybe he does have a home here, in the last place he ever thought he’d find one.

 

And yet the damned nightmares and war visions keep playing out in his brain.  Every time Steve closes his eyes, whether it’s to try to fall back asleep or to remember the sight of Darcy coming apart beneath him, the sights of blood and battle surge back.  Yeah, sleep’s not going to be happening any time soon, at least not tonight.

 

He kicks his legs out of the top sheet and pushes it to the floor as he sits up; it’s destined for the laundry basket anyway after that dream.  His breathing has slowed at least, to the point where it doesn’t feel like his lungs are about to burst out of his chest anymore.  Steve’s about to get in the shower, testing the water temperature with one hand, when the phone rings.

There’s only two people who call him at this time of the middle of the night, and he’s pretty sure it’s not Nick Fury.  So Steve walks out of the bathroom, not even bothering to wrap a towel around himself, and picks up the phone.  “Hey, Darcy.”

 

_“Hey you.  You feeling okay?”_

 

Steve huffs, wrapping an arm around his middle.  “Not really,” he admits.

 

_“You wanna talk about it?”_  He can hear the hesitation, the nervousness in her voice, and he wishes he could reassure her as much as possible, even though he knows it won’t be enough.  It’s nice to have someone that concerned about him, however.

 

“What I want to do is go punch something really hard,” Steve says.  “Maybe some time pounding the heavy bags will help.”

 

_“Screw sleep then, huh?”_

 

“I don’t think I’m going to be sleeping again tonight.  You sound like you’re about to drop off any second, however.”  It’s true, Darcy’s voice is low and murmuring, and it’s a bit of a balm against his frayed nerves.

 

_“Yeah, but you’re not gonna be there,”_ Darcy says.   _“It’s going to be lonely.”_

 

The good images from the dream come rushing back once more, the curve of her neck that he’d buried his face in, and the way her fingers gripped his tighter and tighter.  Steve can feel the flush steal over his cheeks, burning warm.  “Well, we did say that we were going to talk in the morning, weren’t we?”

 

_“We don’t have to,”_ Darcy says with a rush of breath.   _“I mean, if you’re too tired or too wiped out - “_

 

“No, I want to talk,” Steve cuts her off mid-sentence.  The last thing he wants is to give her the wrong idea.  This means too much to him, and he’s not going to let any more opportunities slip through his fingers.  “I don’t want us to go back to how things were,” he says.  “I want us to go forward.”

 

_“Me too,”_ she replies, and Steve can hear the smile sneaking out in her voice.   _“Okay, go beat the crap out of something, and then...then we’ll talk.”_

 

“Then we’ll talk.  Get some sleep, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

_“Mmm, ‘kay.  Good night.”_

 

“Good night.”  He clicks the phone off, and hangs onto it for a second before placing it back in its cradle.  The war visions are still there behind his eyes and swirling through his head, but there’s a part of him that feels a little lighter.

 

**********

 

The visions are worse by the time Steve gets to the gym, the easy and warm conversation of earlier overridden by images of tearing through European forests as he runs through hails of bullets.  He wraps his hands to the memory of Bucky’s screaming in his ears as he falls into that endless ravine filled with ice.

 

The sounds of his fists on the heavy bag blend into the sound of Peggy’s voice echoing in his ears.  Each impact of skin on the thick canvas reminds him of the cracking sounds of metal and ice.  Steve can almost feel the sharp sting of the breeze through the broken window of the _Valkyrie_ on his face as he falls into a rhythm.  

 

Sweat shouldn’t be icy cold like that, but he can’t escape it.

 

And then the muffled voices that sneak through what he thought was his dying dream.

 

_‘Oh my god, this guy’s still alive!’_

 

One especially hard punch splits the bag and snaps the chains holding it, and it goes flying back towards the wall in a shower of sand and shredded canvas.  Steve drops his fists and breathes deeply; his heart’s racing again and he’s got to try and get it under control.  ‘Come on, Rogers, you’re strong.  You can do this.’  

 

Steve sighs and moves over to grab another punching bag from the neat line of them laid out on the floor.  It’s not the first time he’s broken a bag, and some well placed dollars in the gym owner’s hand ensured that he’d have enough bags there to replace the ones he’s busted open.  He’s got the money now, he might as well use it to help exorcise his demons, one punch at a time.

 

And one step at a time, he’ll walk into the future.  At least now he’s got a hand to hold.

 

Steve’s fists have barely impacted the new bag when he hears heavy footsteps thudding on the floors behind him.  But there’s a familiar cadence to those steps, and he doesn’t let up on the punches, not until the person finally speaks.

 

“Trouble sleeping?” Nick Fury says.

  
“Slept for seventy years, sir.  I think I’ve had my fill.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ducks behind flak jacket* Don’t shoot? Please? 
> 
> I’m sticking to my original plan though, and the story involving the events of the Avengers will be its own separate entity. Probably because the format will be a bit different than this one (no dream in each chapter), and also because I feel like the events need their own story. So while this story in the series is done, we’ve still got lots more to go. Hang tight - I promise more is on the way...and there will be a little more resolution than what we have above. ;)
> 
> It’s been a hell of a ride. My deepest thanks to absolutely everyone who’s kudos’d, favorited, reblogged, commented, and more - you have no idea how much it warms my heart to know that people like my strange little stories. I’m probably going to take a short break from this ‘verse to work on an editing project, and make a little headway in a Doctor Who/Avengers crossover I’ve got going on, but the outline for the follow up story to this one has already been started, so it’ll be arriving sooner than you think. And you have my full permission to prod me as to when the next story will be here. ;)
> 
> Thank you all for reading - I hope you’ve enjoyed reading the story as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it.

**Author's Note:**

> Both the story title and the chapter title are from _Hoodoo_ , by Muse.


End file.
